Everything seems to collide at least once,
and in this case,
collapse
at least
twice.
My pockets lined
in shreds of white
when I knew the bricks
of porch's steps.
An uncharacteristic hand-holding
was present
on our walk
to my house
on Saturday night
or perhaps
Sunday morning.
Things were paused
for a sliver of a night,
in which
we were
for a single time more.
And then I walked again,
to the same door,
knocking three times on this occasion,
where you were wakened,
and we found our way
to the steps again -
cold bricks
scratching my palms.
I said too much too many times,
but I had nothing left to lose
so I gave it a shot.
I wanted one more night,
a single night left of a lifetime
but you denied my request
and I walked quickly home,
this time alone
on a Sunday night
darkened into a Monday morning.
I couldn't understand
and I still don't
really.
Author notes
Fuckity fuck fuck.
Well?
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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your stuff is often understated and pulls me into its quiet emotionality.
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Thank ya
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"...the bricks of porch's steps." (Perfect)
Line #28: Did you mean to say "colds"?
Excellent presentation of a drawn out rift between lovers. -
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Thank you very much
(I did intend for 'cold,' thank you for pointing that out)
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you still have the ability to make me need to light a cig while reading your work.
glad to see ya writing.
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Thank you very much
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