crample-hammed and headed for a nap

we’ve lost the map and the glisk is fading, 
so we are saving ourselves for later, bundled 

up in moonlight and kindling what is left 
of our poems, kiddled by the phrases we 

once warmed with our own veined ink. 
we think we’re invincible, dragon-strong 

and stitched together with our quills, 
but staggered still, we sit here half 

asleep and filled only with that quiet 
grief that comes only with the fall of dark. 

::

NaPoWriMo, day 2.

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