Painters tape

This old apartment

flat as the stamp in the book

atop our table covered in garbage bags

painters tape and glasses of milky water

pallets and newspaper

in this lonely quarantine

I'm going to try

just swimming on the edges

of writer's block

petrified to ask myself a few questions

I've had secretly buried

in the stash of lovers past

deep in my heart

the quiet places

I never go

'what if' I ask and I turn away

and go on to the next question

'do we always end

right where we begin'

and if so, in our case

that was a place of no hope

no destiny

with nothing but the end in mind

Reviews

[Chris]

perhaps you need to daydream through a game of "He said, she said, then he said and they did something simple and nicely memorable - together and without agenda or hidden intent. And then each smiled and just caught their breaths..."

[mel]

Your review is a poem in itself! Thanks for reading, sharing and reviewing. I appreciate it!