Mondays

October 22, 2009

Mondays

Sunset hues of powder from the black compact
falling loosely upon black ruffles,
steeping into the seams,
staining the ebony lace
Autumn leaves drift downward,
not so deliberately,
littering the landscape,
marking the final number
of the Days of Summer.

Curfew

October 22, 2009

Curfew

Stealthily crawling toward the stairwell,
sweaty palms propel me forward as they’re pressed
against the polar marble path,
making every possible effort
to avoid the wrath of the sleeping mother,
along the basement carpet, I am creeping.

Tugging at the stubborn sliding door,
and slipping out into the still darkness,
the crisp night air calling for the commencement
of yet another escapade.

The sound of crushed gravel
beneath stilettos,
stained from last winter’s salt laced sidewalks,
echoing softly as I tread toward the SUV.

Silently, clouds of smoke
pour out of open windows
and up toward the protruding limbs of tall oaks,
as the summer wind grieves its own passing.

The flicker of lighters and smoldering cigarettes
allow for the outline of adolescents
to be recovered
from the depths of the shadows.

All squeezed into the rear seat,
Shotgun, my eyes meet the end
of the unpaved road,
but only long enough to receive
another load of teens armed
with eyeliner and faded jeans.

 

Limbs intertwined, we fit perfectly.

Two pieces of a perfect puzzle

we’ve already solved.

Our movements in sync, like

we’ve rehearsed them for years

and I could lay right here,

frigid feet wedged between legs

warm breath just below the back

of my neck.

If only,

you

could stay.

 

The Final Week

October 21, 2009

The Final Week

Six empty energy drinks
perilously stacked,
a tipsy totem pole that marks
the hours that have passed
perched on this futon
with only the pitter patter of keys
being tapped gently
to fill the silence.

Unwashed garments sprawled
across the unmade bed and
books with frayed seams
collecting dust
under the worn wooden chair,
near the cluttered desk
like the cobwebs in my head,
hindering my progression.

Crumbled cough drop wrappers
lay upon the mountain of disposed items
spilling out of the trash receptacle,
pleading to be taken out.
The frosty window pane is cloaked
by the satin curtains
that insist on obscuring
my view of the snow that freely falls.

Untitled

October 21, 2009

Untitled

Urgently traipsing along
the treacherous terrain,
beneath the dim glare of the street lamps
The scream of the train
pierces the night air,
mocking her expedited pace

The raw chills crawl up her spine
and the heavy wind
creeps along at her feet.
It’s pulling at the tips of her wavy hair,
grazing her cheeks,
taunting her with its frigid touch.

She passes the hulking glass door,
scurries across the poorly lit hall,
and swiftly down the mildew scented stairs,
and waits cautiously for a sign
behind the door that’s been left ajar,
where he claimed he was alone.

Hushed laughter floods the room
where silence should have been.
It is spilling into the hallway,
where she anxiously holds her breath,
preparing herself for the inevitable,
the moment it’ll all be over