it is the rattling of
the picture frames
that you kept hidden
in the back of your mind,
hanging against the
apricot wall;

it was the tremor
that shook every
glass windows
of your body;

the distant knocks
of strangers
you met in your
past life;

it will hurt you
but you still relish
on the feeling of compunction
seeping onto
your delicate bones;

it will come unexpected,
meeting you at every rendezvous

and you welcome it
with warmth and
joie de vivre.