Rustic Rousing

had the lids been sewn shut
it would be respite enough so to speak
wandering Barzakh surreals; in manner of culture

yet the sealing wax
(now encrusting my farewell envelopes)
crumples with the rustic rousing

my glazed vision lays heavy on
a one soft & battered bedmate
the one felicitous enough to have been – sewn

flung against off-white walls; off-limits
only to be subsequently coddled in propitiation
(could you not have been a some one other…?)