Wordle 45 Jan. 26

A fixture, a force within which

I am blind and delicate.

I clutch the chords

Surrounding my heart

That you will not go there,

That your fingers will not ply

Music from the vacuum

Of my prevaricating jaw.


My body may be reckless

But what of my pride?

If I do not fight now

Then what meaning

Would conquest serve?


My tears come

When you are not with.

A drizzle that does not slate

The leeching of wounds

From this astral coquetry

And nothing goes quite the way

I have endeavored it.

This stupor would have me fall,

Broken at the first extraction.

Emboldened by a single kiss,

I can almost believe

That there is love in sex.


Submission for



16 thoughts on “Wordle #45 Stupor

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