25 Jan


Erasers in our backyard

our silhouettes to sleep

she lays her evil eggs

behind ferns, under bushes

his tooth is loose again

and all cooks vacated the henhouse

this isn’t your place anymore

the breezes linger amidst the trees

wishing to speak before passing on

the knots in oak street

and your heart glows to cinnamon

streetlights fall into purses

private rituals, intimate places

across green sands

a shadow and you on your apple tree

overlooking the hill with the horses

you rode bareback to call boyfriends

scary and merry and all tell-tale signs

the scars driven into diaries

the night they never let go

cloudy leaves

fallen through owl spirits.

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