beauty, love, masculinity, poetry, women

Temple Food

Nothing to anger the blood

A slow breath at morning,

The day ahead,

Unwelcome but necessary

The light is washed out

I don’t welcome the resemblance

But we know different

I am calm,

Set in accepting opposition.

What will the pressure teach you today?

And my goals?

In my pocket, warm and fed

Nurtured against the last traces

Of winter

Stubborn in remaining

But soon we shall leave

With bellies full of

Temple

Food

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