My fingers play a tasteless rhapsody
as I slowly rise to my doorstep;
watching my fingers dance in the mirror
the girl in the elevator
has lost her voice.
It is the season of sickness
and longing wraps its long fingers around my heart.
I disappear into darkness,
a soap lather feather
dissolving in the shower.
Note: This poem was published on Spillwords on July 13, 2016.