I'm standing in the doorway
of my 19th summer
in a hallway of locked doors.
And I seem to have lost my keys.
(What am I to do?)
The Landlord's at one end,
demanding rent,
demanding pennance.
But I have neither.
(What am I to be sorry for?)
I'm standing on the rug
the lies before the fire in the living room.
It's been there since the first night
we made love.
And my shoes are dirty.
(What else can I remember you by?)
Now, you've dissolved into a midnight mist
that drifts gently into my bedroom
on moonbeams and starlight
and wake me in the night.
I can't get enough.
(What can I do to forget you?)
Author notes
A quick-write, if you will. As always, enjoy and leave some criticism. -R.T
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