Fabrication
I imitate the intimate,
taught each thought I share;
love becomes another glove,
worn until worn through.
I misstate my each mistake;
would you wound me now?
Come again to the same sum,
naught will not make true.
I fabricate, I recreate,
the song I once heard wrong;
my voice become another noise,
ash to ashes new.
Stephen Brooke ©2026
playing around with words again
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