honeysuckle: poems by colleen cosette goodman

tymphs

Et parfois, il me manque d'être malade.
La combustion lente me manque.
Comment je me suis régalé
Comment j'ai prospéré
La belle langueur
Couché dans le lit, malade dans la tête, tymphs, those boon times went to bust, merci Madame Apple,
Tu me connais bien.

The fifth of June, 2017.

Translation:

And sometimes, I miss being sick.
I miss the slow burn.
How I reveled,
How I prospered,
The beautiful languidness
Lying in bed, sick in the head, tymphs, those boon times went to bust, thank you Ms. Apple,
You know me well.