The Cacographer

Two story (I don't like the ending/repetition)

The neighbors, one new to this place,
murmur low, uncertain and
desperate to keep their inexorable
moans behind engorged tongues.

They placed their tentative
and coral pink hands like
blushing porcelain on the door,
smiling at the floor under my hornbill glasses.

Discretely, between the floorboards
the dust settled like men in chairs.

I waved them past, fumbling at my rims
as though the door could shut as it should.

Still, I said at the once white threshold,
Still, I said to the door, encasing hesitant and eager
and limped away, past still-lifes and younger portraits.
Still, I told them, forgetting the reach of my newfound daughter,
and shuffled downstairs.

posted by OrangeDrink @ 11:58:00 PM