..
,
she is listening to the way the room breathes. the way
he leaves without warning. the mourning of the walls
and their sorrow-scattered beat. the peeling-paint pant
of want, and wander. she has squandered herself for a
single knock, a noisy clock ticking off the minutes left
until the exhale meets the whoosh of door. she is more
than tired and less than stilled, willed soft with waiting.
..
poeming over at poetic asides.
love this
This is impressive work. Well done.
This is so soft and lovely.
Perfection.
You sculpt these words like a Bonsai gardener. Loved this. Loved the audacity of opening with an orphaned “,” .Love this and love you, Moskowitz
De, I am beyond words. This is so amazing, the flow, the meter, the internal rhymes, and profound emotion/imagery with so few words. Wow. Wow. Wow. I read it to my husband because I couldn’t keep it to myself…thank you ❤