how the wind prods
each window
longs for heat's sweet kiss

they meet beneath the door
in open secret
of adultery

the odd mutter
of vegetables huddled on the sideboard
waiting to be chopped

that black apron
hung slack on hook
lacks all memory of her body

and i count
still the steady tread
of our quiet kitchen's clock

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byElmerGlew© 4 comments/ 1672 views/ 1 favorites

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