Roaming Eyes
Two in the morning,
walking along a cold street.
Jacket not warm enough,
wings barely constituted as such
hidden beneath.
Lugging around a backpack for
no conceivable reason.
Shoes too big, jeans too long.
Covered in mud by the time I get there.
Solicited twice. Who knew?
Damn not having a car, less than a permit...
Gotta wonder why you don't lock your door...
yet...
I'm grateful for it being open.
I think I'm dreaming.
Hear a car skid,
the crashing.
Four in the morning,
TV still blaring.
A shiver as the key turns,
falling back to the couch,
pantomime sleep.
Jingle, jingle, keys on the counter clack.
Footfalls recede to a halt, are you looking?
Start up again, you're walking.
The gunfire is switched off.
No words spoken, a semi-silent sigh the only sunderer of the silence.
Why didn't you come home...?
I guess you didn't expect to find me here...
Cradled gently to a barely audible tune,
as if flying on the melody.
Laid back to rest in a nest of down.
I guess I was thoughtless again,
to think you didn't have a home to return to...
Sweet nothings bob on the air
filled with the carcinogous scent of tobacco and liquor.
Pretending to wake is child's play,
accomplished in the simplicity of being a child next to you.
Creaking of springs, a rush of flavor.
Higher, softer, less intense.
Demanding questions of answers,
a slow release of blood-shot eyes and you're out of view,
voice still in range.
Another creak, rustling like manyfold wings.
My name interposed with fragmented questions
and briar-sharp curses smeared softly as honey butter.
I guess I didn't know how tired I was...
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