I wake up in the middle
of the velvet night to hear
the stones of our foundation
moaning under our weight.
It started like this: First, your eyes.
That hand on the small of my back.
I took a swan dive back into
myself. Your fingers ruffled my
feathers on the way down.
Then came the pull
of tin-can telephones,
the sagging weight
of distance between us.
I left the lights on to sleep.
I covered up with
every quilt I owned.
Now I wait for the tumble
of this house we’ve built.
I wonder how the windowpanes
will sound as they hit the street.
No comments:
Post a Comment