Unfocussed

It blurs

Like one hundred per cent candle lit moments

And soft focus lighting

Except, a little bit bluer

Neither golden nor pink

La vie n’est pas rose

It is romantically not.

It is defence mechanism,

Insurance, a cardigan in summer

I spread butter on hot toast

Thinking of that particular sunshine

And not the animal that is dead

I think about soft grains and bread

And it blurs

Seeping through to stain my bare hands.

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