Carole

 

 

I see your clock roll over my shore,

I see your hands haunting art;

I see my skin shrink to touching,

cocooning ’round my heart.

 

Ouch, sharp, when you tell my time,

Poe-ish as the poet’s punch;

cold, wrenching, your fist clinched fright,

when I hear my ribcage crunch.

 

__

 

One morning, when storms birthed you,

and thunder vibrated my name,

crows fell from black cumulus claws,

hail echoed my one lone blame,

you just had to write me, plainly.

 

__

 

I see your hands haunting art,

you just had to write, and blame me;

I hear your hands haunting art,

you just had to write,

and stain me.

 

I see your clock roll over my shore,

and I repent,

for what it’s worth,

if I still have time.

 

For dVerse Tuesday.