the harpsichord behind your neckline
by Steven Kenworthy
it started out two kids running in the autumn leaves
autumn dawn i raked them so we could jump
into each other.
now we’re home & slowing motions
our memories have grown into the doorbell
we’re ringing in a new year.
sweet orchard tree it’s time for us to bury old notions of getting old
the wooden walls are papered to your taste
they are unfortunately small. you are fortunately small.
your tongue is wet with hope
i am dry ink dark as dust
pink ribbon chainsaws etch something eulogistic,
“please don’t go”.
it’s not too late for our very last date.
this dress you chose, did you choose it for me?
or the masses, let’s go to mass let’s make last minute changes.
seasons greetings Esquelette i’m simply dealing
cards you are my queen of sparks.
put away all that makeup. this can’t be the stars.
they’re not as white or hot or dreamy like they were in the movies,
you are my Hollywood and if you go away I don’t want to go to the theater anymore.
halo and harp
our house is crinkling to the ground
zero, i counted from ten
i don’t want to count again.
the green numbers are saying it all
i miss being kids
i miss the fall.
i’ll reach through your ceiling and play with your hair
there doesn’t need to be a lot,
we are innocent reindeer sprinting through fields.
Author's Note: a porcelain nightmare
Posted on 07/09/2019
Copyright © 2019 Steven Kenworthy