~ two-bit poetry on a stick ~ |
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When space makes things clearer There was a sudden hail storm tonight, ice the size of mothballs drummed a staccato on the roof, reminiscent of how my heart used to sound, at least to my ears, every time you called me. It is a year and a half later, and although the passion has waned a bit, there is still a hailstorm in those quiet moments when we stare at each other in bed, on our sides. Winter sunshine, breaking the ice against the pavement to see how far we could make them dance and laughing while the dog tries to chase the ice chips, looking bewildered when they suddenly disappear, melting under the force of our passion. One by one we empty this old house, noticing perhaps for the first time, how glaringly white the walls are, but no matter how empty the rooms get, the memories etched in its tired walls would be resistant to any amount of sugar water we could splash on them, as if embarrassed by a love that is barely contained. There is mostly laughter left on the walls, childish hopes and fierce dreams of happily ever after. If the new owners look close enough, there would perhaps be a hint of the times when the sudden quiet would be too much for the ears to take, when tears would break the tension and words are hurled in anger. They are bouncing off the walls still. Like souvenirs locked in an old chest, serving no purpose but to invoke times we'd both rather forget. "You're breaking me," and I would die again. Three decades these walls have stood, and maybe it makes me feel as though I am a stranger to your hallsbones, your skinwall, your stonefloorfeet. Or maybe it was just me resisting the call of suburban utopia. But you hold on, and I am inclined to stay. And maybe someday I can tell you without being afraid that the walls would record it silently as they have done all your loves in the past, that I am not afraid to dream with you. 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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