There are no curtains
At our windows-
Our room opens into the sky street
Of black -
An asphalt continuum
Broken with a glaring street light
That fizzles like a cloud
Into the edges of the sky
One day soon,
We will clothe our windows
And envelope our home in a
Blanket of cosiness
But for now, I enjoy
The nakedness, the vulnerability
Of an open chasm, as though
We are still camping, perhaps,
Under the rockies or in the atachama
Like we used to, can I say when we
Were young?
When inside, I still feel so young as the night
falls,
Or does everybody?
Jun 29, 2020
Jun 29, 2020 at 5:37 AM UTC
There are no curtains
At our windows-
Our room opens into the sky street
Of black -
An asphalt continuum
Broken with a glaring street light
That fizzles like a cloud
Into the edges of the sky
One day soon,
We will clothe our windows
And envelope our home in a
Blanket of cosiness
But for now, I enjoy
The nakedness, the vulnerability
Of an open chasm, as though
We are still camping, perhaps,
Under the rockies or in the atachama
Like we used to, can I say when we
Were young?
When inside, I still feel so young as the night
falls,
Or does everybody?
