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Tiger’s Quilt

You’re tattered.

A patchwork quilt left

out in the damp

for too long.

Bright morning colours usually fade,

to the greys of a forgettable evening

but the sun is out now

and that’s something to be

grateful for.

Amber eyes watch

my every move, as I dry my face and

wish I was clean.

The scent of freeze-dried coffee

no longer bothers me.

I don’t enjoy

your morning perfume,

the way I used to.

So like a newborn kitten

I’ll paw at these loose strings of fabric

and try not to tear you apart.

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