Sallied home to sanctuary,
a secret abode,
coffee moving
in the air like a flag.
Finger prints worn
from handling
dirty change,
and head hung,
on puppet string,
tethered taut by our
morning alarm.
And from sanctuary
we sortie, an assault
on the working day,
secrets pinned
to our pinafores
on a broach
with our names.
And venture:
“life moves by like a flash”,
an electron drift of days.
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