what i’m made

you run from me, but i’ll
chase you to no tower or
loose myself in a maze…
i’m not made that way;
i won’t cross oceans,
sail through the Gibraltar
to rendezvous… no, i
cannot swim for my life,
but if you were taken ill
and needed company, i might
just bring you a bag of
tangerines to peel at your
side, heat you a bowl of
chicken soup to comfort you,
read you to sleep if i have
to… for this is what i’m made

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About mr gahon

poet... writer... culinarian... i like to work with food that appeals to the senses, write words that taste even better View all posts by mr gahon

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