I’ve missed a week, now two, for the first time since starting. But I was on a last-minute vacation, and I got a poem out of it.
Becoming One
If souls stain like clothes, I'm never going to get your color out. There's no recovering this garment - No Tide will fade your mark, Days bleaching in the sun Won't remove your smell. No bleach will make me brand new. Your vibrant color is woven into me; The holes in these knees aren’t fake.