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Scraps of attention,
Flung like so much
Discarded and forgotten.
They are my treasure.
To be gathered in.
Scooped up and mashed together.
Not hoarded.
Their bulk – a shortlived comfort.

Your scant words!
I devour them.
Gulp them down
Swallow them whole.
Such tasteless scraps.
They are not enough.
Never enough.
I long for more.
Yearn for them.
Resolve to taste each one
Savour their meaning.
Make them last.

But for the compulsion,
The insatiable appetite.
I sicken myself.


About Hawksword

Reluctant writer, word dabbler...tea maker, coffee drinker, rum imbiber, chocolate eater.

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