To wait

To wait is to be suspended
On a slender thought.

Not gossamer but iridescence's

Shines.

Your face in the morning

Wet

Slowly the question asks
will
you?

The days and years lie in
rubble

Tomorrow's dust
degenerates,

Yesterday's
bleed from the
pain of unuse.

To wait is a crowded cellar,
sour wines,

You and your
sapiosexual
5 th act.

It  is
Another dead end

itself that

staines the
floors of
Cellar

silences



Caroline Shank
March 30, 2025