I was up even before the red fist of the sun unlatched,
mourning you and my mother's rule even before morning
had the chance to arrive.
While the streetlamps still glowed this faint orange awning
into the slumbering streets,
the candles of all the warnings about
brown eyes, bruised knees, and broken heartbeats
flickered and flickered in me
then whiff did they - gone.
I rapped on your door once, twice, thrice,
wishing your heart was made of mahogany instead,
that its hinges were as shiny as your home's entryway
so at least you could let me in
the way you did that slumber of dawning
I lied to my mom to get to where you were.
YOU ARE READING
Fools
PoésieWords by Fransivan MacKenzie Illustrations by Cali Isobel "FOOLS" is a small collection of poetry accompanied by illustrations that reek of love in its rawest nature, therefore defying all kinds of logic. All sixteen poems (excluding the tiny ones o...
