Wednesday, September 24, 2014


It was so strange walking up to your door last night. . . 
it is as if the pavement is peeling away as you prepare to leave.

Carpeting retracts from the stairs
like a cat's tongue curling back
after a yawn.

The lights flicker,
every bulb is a little candle's flame
walls thin, like old playing cards
quivering in the wind.

Window blinds waver like watery eyes
for they recognize what comes.
The trees outside shed their clothes. . .
The feathers to your wings.

Take my hands my love
Let us race like our heart beats
to our next adventure
As the street folds closed,
like a wet, black fan.

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