Kahn

This morning, I am the usurper,
covered in fragrent wood ash,
cheeks flushed from wielding the axe,
who moves the cat,
curled and peaceful, dozing Holstein,
from his place on the couch,
all soft edges and cushioned warmth.
I am the Genghis Kahn of the living room,
rearranging all to my liking
with fire and arrows of harsh words,
sweeping across the plains on the backs
of my trusty slippers and blue jammies.

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Poetry, photos, musing

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