poetry

Close the door

Close the door

 

Come inside and close the window

The thick sun is still asleep.

I’m left to lie on aged sheets, that

I grasp in little mounds like children.

 

Come inside but don’t come too close,

I have a tender place I won’t want you

To touch.

I mask it with the reflections

in the window, watching me.

As strange as birds they hover in the

Sunlight, stirring my clammy head.

 

Come inside and feel the carpet

with your naked foot.

Your pink toes prickle, play,

Let go of the music.

 

I have a tender place to touch,

It feels warm as your hand, soft

As your duvet face. I want you

To hold it like the pillow’s shoulder

You cry on

 

Come inside here, close the door.

Feel my creases, come under my lamplight

I’ll tuck you in close to me, where you

Can lie in the shade of my tender place

Swim in the old ripples of my heart

 

The long light touches

the tips of your lips

you are too supple

to touch.

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