Shadowplay of past – my poesy, the streets
are sordid rivers of kajal. With tongue still stiff
I sip the bitterness of ale and coffeewords,
Too scared to leave,too scared to stay.
You left me to unsorted manuscripts
you left me to the deeds unsigned.
The welts across my thigh, a phantom pain
of fingertips and rusted words you left.
Across the street, a homeless man,
his hands are eyes, my gaze unlocked
can find the back door exit, my escape
on cobblestones, stiletto heels as drums.
His hands are yours. I’m his fiddle
left at mercy to kajal and coffeewords.
Linked to Magpie Tales, a little effort in unrhymed sonnet writing.
September 27, 2015