(this is a poem I wrote last year but forgot to press the "publish" button)
Comfort sounds like an old jazz standard or a friendly conversation through the screen door.
It is the turning pages of a book or slippered footsteps on the wooden floor.
Comfort looks like a patchwork blanket and my comfy woolen socks.
It is a sun-dappled lane through the orchard and coloured crayons in a box.
Comfort tastes like buttered toast and salted brazil nuts
It is the little wooden spoon that comes with icecream in a tub
Comfort is lemons and burlap and paper and cork
It is caramel and the ocean and a home-roasted pork
Comfort is corduroy and a cat sleeping in the sun
Comfort is hugs and home and being loved by someone.
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