The day’s gone stale before noon,
crusts of clouds I cannot chew.
Crusts my lover chewed right through
so quick, I feared he’d chip a tooth.
He chipped a tooth quickly, now it’s loose,
roots too exposed resist the truth.
Resisting truth, our roots too exposed
to daybreak’s dark bacterial growth.
Bacterial growth molds my soul
with inedible feelings, come evening.
Evening is inedible; when it comes,
my lover points to our dry cotton texture.
Another cotton texture points dry, and my lover,
tossed in the compost with all the others.
© khartless 2022, All Rights Reserved
NaPoWriMo#27~Today’s challenge was to craft a“duplex.” A “duplex” is a variation on the sonnet, developed by the poet Jericho Brown. Like a typical sonnet, a duplex has fourteen lines. It’s organized into seven, two-line stanzas. The second line of the first stanza is echoed by (but not identical to) the first line of the second stanza, the second line of the second stanza is echoed by (but not identical to) the first line of the third stanza, and so on. I put a bit of my own spin on it, of course, and I hope you like it.