I've gone cold escaping

I am a patchwork roof
quilted with shingles
old and worn

The squirrels
and the birds
and the rains
know the way in

I am a cracked mug
I am a thin-lipped saucer
brimming over

I lie on the table-cloth,
patterned wheels left in a time
when colours were bright
I see the threads hang down

My cheek is grained,
hardwood heavy on my breath,
boards warped with the moisture

The cellar yawns a promise,
green eyes in the darkness pooling,
foundations crumbling below

06/15/2014

Author's Note: sins

Posted on 06/16/2014
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