The end of a week

entry picture

The light from the bed-stand lamp shone onto your hair

It was a wheat field at sunset, it was an empty clay field in New Mexico

With its saturated yellows, blacks and reds. I brushed my fingers across the plain.

I felt the grain brush and twist between my fingers.

 

You pushed your back closer to my chest and sighed happiness

And I continued to memorize every detail of the moment

The way I felt powerful and safe because I made you feel safe and powerful

The way you tried to continue the conversation, even though it was ending.

 

I pulled you closer, so that I may hopefully pull you within me.

Capture the time we spent together deep within my chest.

Where I could lock it away like a frozen songbird

That hums a single note that never ends.

 

Your packed cardboard boxes sang a soft hymn

It was a song about the time we’d never have.

I traced the lyrics that the boxes sung

Into the curvature of your back.

 

I wonder if the colors show in Houston

If the suns rays bounce off the city streets.

I wonder if in that roaring city

Your hair is the sole provider of wheat.

◄ Rooftops

Comments

No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses only functional cookies that are essential to the operation of the site. We do not use cookies related to advertising or tracking. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message