Trista Dominqu

Silver measuring spoons, and Turquoise jewels

Hands too good for your
Silver spoons tarnished
With years of dinners
Come and gone
But hands and necks
Were just perfect for
The silver and turquoise
That gathered dust in
Your cluttered box of
Past anniversaries, and
Holidays, they never
Even touched your skin,
Now they grace theirs
When it suits them
Your ladle, and your
Mothers measuring spoons
Line my drawers, and are
Put to use at the first
Rumbles of hunger,
Suiting mine as they did

Promote. Poetry.
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