Sitting still inside of a cavernous house
As the dust tickles the nose of a whitened mouse
The windows need cleaning, my bed sheets a washing
’Tis a pity I’m filthy, too.
Vibratos of floor creaks ache their pains
Throughout the haze of the summer rains
And the creased paper that lies precariously on my desk
Trembles like the madman who set it there.

Shadows float like bubbles off the ground
And rumble collectively and make soft sound
Their silhouettes quiver; their souls give and shiver
As they mix and discombobulate the atmosphere.
And now, the sounds appear once more
Could it be that someone is at the door?
I dare not move nor attempt to exist
Inside my impenetrable defense of this.

Now, I feel my volcanoes beginning to erupt
As the foggy silence is suddenly made to disrupt
For a thousand voices and more are born
And create lives of their very own.
Hands that belong to exact-looking men
Demolish the foundation of my once safe den
However, when the dust settles, I look to myself
And realize that it was once again me.

The feeling you get
When you're not sure what else is left to feel.

She was a head-turner, that one.

She wore tight-fitting clothes that
Complimented her like a love letter
And her walk could make
Any sensible dude talk

I'll never forget when we first talked
And how although I only liked her physically
She presented herself as innocently decent
Even after showing me a picture in her underwear.
And I felt badly
Because even as I write this poem
She might someday find this and know it was for her
But if she does
Her knee-high black boots can walk proudly across these words.