Dissections 3

Originally posted on Pen of the Damned:

DISSECTIONS 3

Dried Glue

Your frown seems longer in the shadows

and your eyes flutter like the autumn leaves

that seek solace at my feet

between us the empty shell of something once we’d born

my fingers so clumsy

trying to glue it back.

Laughter fades in the rearview

a ghost of broken promise all that remains in the street

seemingly typical when you wish to be lost in a crowd

and closed signs stop you at doors.

It’s okay, we’ll talk, won’t we?

Of times when the air rushed through our hair

the open road a cherished child.

We played favorites, didn’t we?

Always the same marker until we reached a place our own

but today your eyes signal a storm on the horizon

and your lips flutter like the autumn leaves

that seek compassion at my feet.

We held that empty shell of something once, didn’t we?

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