you you you, always you;
standing in the doorway
sleeping on the floor
always questioning.
fingers on faces and hair behind ears,
you do?
always
god, to think
that if some people believe
in things like god,
then what did we believe?
there was nothing left
the closet, the drawers,
like the scrape of teeth on the cusp of a spoon,
you whispered something
raspy from the cigarette
sleep will come.
Apr 23, 2011
Apr 23, 2011 at 9:02 PM UTC
you you you, always you;
standing in the doorway
sleeping on the floor
always questioning.
fingers on faces and hair behind ears,
you do?
always
god, to think
that if some people believe
in things like god,
then what did we believe?
there was nothing left
the closet, the drawers,
like the scrape of teeth on the cusp of a spoon,
you whispered something
raspy from the cigarette
sleep will come.
Request permission to use this poem