Monday, November 9, 2015

When Wednesday Walks Home

I know I'm a loner
with a fine bottle cap collection.
And I know you call me honey
and trespass anytime you like.
But when Wednesday walks home
tousled like a young pilgrim
I could do her laundry.
Bake pies just to keep the heavy
scent of pastry in the room.
She is as good to me as an unexpected lunch,
a profound hammock, a Chilean stamp
with fountains and, look!
Neruda in the distance.

No comments:

All Life is like this Afteroon

All life is like this afternoon on your young sandy face the weight of the stars the body tasting like snow a slipcover of communic...