The grand, Dutch doors inside your eyes
slammed themselves shut
and this time was different because
I knew you would not be letting me back in.
I knew there would be no espresso
or red, Spanish lace stockings or you
forgiving me before *******
the breath out of me.
I knew on the nights I was a ghost
you would no longer visit my cemetery.
I knew when the old heart jar
began swimming frantic laps within my stomach
you would no longer burn lavender incense
or tuck me into bed.
I knew there were goodbye's
that felt like black, hot concrete
on bare feet.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 7:33 AM UTC
The grand, Dutch doors inside your eyes
slammed themselves shut
and this time was different because
I knew you would not be letting me back in.
I knew there would be no espresso
or red, Spanish lace stockings or you
forgiving me before *******
the breath out of me.
I knew on the nights I was a ghost
you would no longer visit my cemetery.
I knew when the old heart jar
began swimming frantic laps within my stomach
you would no longer burn lavender incense
or tuck me into bed.
I knew there were goodbye's
that felt like black, hot concrete
on bare feet.
Request permission to use this poem