Wafting

She is married and alone
buried deep inside the pile
busy in a soundproof room
making everything work right.

Unlit broken matchsticks
mingle with dust bunnies
in the corners of expectations
where rainbows died in silence.

Laughter was louder lifetimes ago
when no questions were asked
when all the answers were certain
and counterfeit smiles never worn.

There is something there in her
itchy fingers and blue eyes begging,
hidden in time waiting to bloom;
silent secrets in an alleyway of sin
fantasies in thought, dreams like smoke
meeting in the sky among birds flying free.