That Fever without a Fever

I tried the cat
on a leash
thing. It ended
with him in his corner,
me in mine.

Which takes longer
to heal: flesh
wounds or wounded
pride? The bitten
tongue or hand
that feeds
our souls?

Too lazy to look
it up.
July will slam
through the window
screen soon enough.

2 thoughts on “That Fever without a Fever

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