People call out of the past Curving like loose sheets of paper Bring milk, I say They bend until The far edges meet I fold them quickly Here, here and here Make a simple crease The triangular shape of strained smiles Watch them curvingly glide away Good riddance (I say) In my ever burgeoning nest of crumpled defeats Back to sleep
![](https://dilettante.ink/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/384E5F3F-AF81-41BE-936A-98C624A86C22.jpeg)