Feste's Lute

Scribbles & Sketches of the Unspeakable

I never finish six word stories.

indisposed

Stark-shaking,
bemused burlap
refused and
strewn wide
at the shoulder.
Beneath his lids
soft hazel,
“Nut,” Meg decides,
his damp gaze
drips downward
at your steps,
at turns to
alleys you
shun.