kiddo can crawl pretty good now

poetry

your finger finds the puff of
lint fallen from my pocket aged to
perfection through long hours
tumbling round my fingers gathering
tiny pieces of paper and fingernail
fungus never resting even
while being washed seeking lint
from new shirts gathered over
time slowing nearly stopping
aging growing happily
knowing full well it will escape
to my carpet and become an
object of crawling causing
desire for my daughter

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