Bedsheets

And as the world burns

we are consumed, yet not by flame. 

Closing the window to a silent killer

we retreat to our quilted haven

and build our Acropolis with marble-white sheets. 

Here you become Perseus, 

Distinctively human in your apotheosis. 

Bitter coffee stings the back of my throat

As I drink you in. 

And while the outside world is inflected with uncertainty

I build my fortress in you. 

Photo courtsey of Roi Dimor

Categories: Poetry

Joanna Magill

french and spanish linguistics student || journalist || poet

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