Monday, 11 July 2011

He is a window.

He is an open window, to her right at night.
Her ear grows cold, yet she refuses to shut him. 

If she shut him, she would miss the curtain
sailing in and out beside her, a paisley breath.

She exhales. He is not really an open window. 
This is imagining.

He is a lion, in a dark room,
his own curtains all drawn around him.

Sitting in this hung dark, tools surrounding,
A spade, a shovel, he thinks.

What is he thinking?

No one will know. Least of all her.

She...

She just moves forward. One step, two step. Just like that. Steady progression, 
a procession of forgetting

something that never really was

anything.

Curtain keeping her company,
an open window.






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