Her ghosts
were streaks in the kitchen window
running with the wind swept
drizzle of an afternoon
blanketed in clouds
wrapped snug and warm
They would gather
in the periphery
calling from the far corner
of her eye
Billowing curtains as
she past
tipping cups of tea dregs
into small spills
whining in the back tracks
of songs she hummed
ruffling the cats spine
into fur disturbance
the extra bite
of wind when she opened the door
Her ghosts
caressed her
at night
kiss wraiths
sinking into her dreams
holding her from within
till dawn speared
the morning against
the wallpaper
3 comments:
As a comment about the poem, this effort leaves a lot to be desired Kraxpelax lol
This one gives me chills, Chris, I take your poems so personally. Nice words, this morning.
Hiya Bridget, nice to see you again *smile*, hope things are going ok for you at the moment, thanks for dropping in.
Post a Comment