(Reproduction of any type not permitted without express written consent of the author.)
My thoughts stray
to the interior of a hotel room
lighted by candles
flickering on the headboard
like a billion sparklers
in the current from the open door.
The room is empty in the cold glow
there is almost
the soft impression of two bodies
on the snowdrift like quilt
covering the massive bed.
Buttery like light
steals from under the bathroom door
like an uninvited guest
in the dead of night
who takes all your best crystal
and leaves through the window,
and you can feel the reverberations
from the emptiness
through the solid deadness of the door.
Listen carefully,
Is that the ghostly echo of a sigh
on the edge of birth and death
The restless melody of cloth rubbing against cloth?
The wet resonance of a kiss?
If you stood long enough
might you feel
the beginnings of stealthy movement
of long arms wrapping you in their warmth?
This room is empty
dead
of all future
only one sad ghost
of so many.
(Reproduction of any type not permitted without express written consent of the author.)