• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 05
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The light doesn't dim in the eyes
Of my teddy, who sits plum
At the head of my bed,

His little nose matt-black
Like a piece of coal
Or a liquorice allsort.

His unerring gaze
Doesn't follow me
Around the room.

It takes in no judgement,
Offers none;
Offers nothing at all,

My little teddy,
Except the softness of touch,
The flesh and blood smell of memory.