Calendar! Poem by Poetheart Morgan

inside my chest

~write that in your appointments ~

once, has lived an open door
at nights and in the coming and going of our moons
i ran, in hurry, closing your hours

losing a bit of my taste
my salt stayed in my first rhyme
back~ there~

~mark that in your daily book~

and the moon on top and down the door
ajar, a silver light comes in
hours is running out

and I smile ~now totally sweet~ of

all these records on your calendar