much like a grand foyer with wainscoting and marble...
there we were
poem and subject
alley charming
a poet in the poem hall
we both wanted to be Esau
but instead saw humans with hats
all sorts of shapes, sizes and colors
some hats even had their own entourages
couriers who fettered the walks before hands
flower petals and bottle caps
the sounds of which mixed muffled to chronic
harboring on something bending you away
from how you feel tight to the marrow
crawling the poem in our turns towards morning
is she
are we
sitting thusly
with coffee
and a book
does she
do we look
over rural to woolly wildly disguised land
does she
do we look
through barren concrete to office scapes
is it Monday there
is it ever Monday there
when she as we wears
thought as surrender
to not thinking
stealth is the wealth
of always fitting in
she never said we in her poems
until one time she did
she said i got lucky
and bird found
a way in
she smiled
said this, a begin
and i did
start to beg
my own way
an into an in
she said we
are near
rite here, quiet
silk, silt and exhales
what the reader gets
to keep at the end of a poem
she said we
we wrote this
we birthed these
cities and silhouettes
these scents and senses
at the foot of our bed
EJR ©
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