LAST CHORE

March 15, 2016
Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on Pinterest

Translucent dust, sunbeam dancing
abandoned pillow for weeping
breasts rising, inhaling memories
stale ecstasy for breakfast.
Iron ladder, rope dryer
yesterday’s intimacy hangs listlessly
fingertips grazing, exposed lace
escape begging for attention.
Black coffee, inner heckling
sex that Sunday, perfunctory
calendar moaning, routine screaming
his last chore, seemingly.
Pulling out, reeling in
city below still moving
hands trembling, clothespins snapping
shamefully folding soiled vulnerability.
– JD

Comments