Monday, February 15, 2016

Shoes by the Door



you left your shoes by the door;
i pick them up,
put them away
now there are no more shoes
of yours to pick up

the tile beneath my feet
in the morning are cold
settle into a big bed
& yet i still sleep
at the very edge of a memory

falling, as i always nearly do
to a dream of you coming home
with a fistful of wildflowers

then being awakened to
relentless rain pelting
on me and i am
on a capsized boat
in the middle of the gulf

or worse yet, still craving
just a sound or sight
of you, even if it's
an insult, a blow
to my body









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