Suburbia
Outside, the lightning was swift;
a sudden rain against my skin,
blurring your features into a single gash.
The grey weeds
that spread and withered the yard
where you buried your black thoughts
have gone yellow.
Our laundry is hung out as open and raw
as strips of new skin.
You sunbathe on the porch
like a corpse,
your mouth a blood plum against
the ruin of your face,
your body quiet as our empty house.
You have acquired a coldness
I know
but not enough
to own.
Pages: 1 2