of the couch
on a rainy sunday.
the fear of deep cushions
and hot tea.
the thrill of an old book,
a plate
of oven baked
cookies, all within reach.
i like the chances that i
take
when i pull the blanket
up tight,
around my neck,
my head on a feather pillow,
sinking in.
the doors locked,
the alarm set.
a sharpened pencil
and a crossword puzzle
nearby.
i like living on the edge,
thumbing my nose
at death.
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