~ two-bit poetry on a stick ~ |
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My home, my womb, my gilded cage I remember worn paths, and secrets stuck between pavement cracks. A smoke-filled room with the people I cared most and in my short-sightedness neglected. I remember a sunset so beautiful save for the smog and the traffic lights cutting the warmth into ribbons while purple, magenta, grey, puce and blood red fought for supremacy in the cacophony of traffic unmindful of the day's orchestral strains of small-town drama dying into twilight. I remember your hand, and the way it held the coffee cup, holding your breath like a bull in a china shop, not wanting the moment to end. And the quiet laugh, the scratch of a pen as it scribbles down secrets plucked from the crevices, saved from the newspaper flowers, tossed over for another caffeine rush. And the desire to come home swells, and threatens to drown out the beating of this heart. Steam - 19.01.07 |
-- friends --
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-- diaryland -- notifylist -- |
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©2005 two-bit poet ©2007 image rdk ledrew |
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