Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 22
At night I hear the crickets talking to me,
their black backs
slick and reflective
against the moon.
When the sun comes up,
I leave the doors ajar so
one
by
one
they come inside to hide
under the chests and in the corners of the room;
their Morse code of clicks and chirps
a metronome for my writing hand.
Written by
Alexis Elizabeth Lynch  31/F/Ohio
(31/F/Ohio)   
257
   Skittles611
Please log in to view and add comments on poems