A Stone Cold Chestnut St. Waltz

I hope you fly my sparrows. From my mind into time.

There was a time

when I was without

But then came a day

when my hands were full

of your black hair

and my eyes saw

your freckles

your bones protruding

in a delicate cage

but now there

is only a memory

of you writhing

and one of you

doing nothing at all

and me

sitting there in a white

t-shirt

on your couch

watching

waiting. 

Author's Note

I am the anti-chalet