Alone Time
Poetry Sunday
Coffee and a cigarette,
the wind blowing ash and smoke in my face
as the setting sun serves only as a sideshow
to the migrating clouds over the great big
rocky husk dominating the suburban landscape.
Solitude
Nothing but a search for the warmth
occurred over a 10 day period
punctuated by an exchange
within a crowded bus.
She smiles behind blue hexagonal shades
as I ask her about Buddha
and their thoughts on life and height.
Before that hands had touched,
jackets borrowed, shoes left behind;
a kiss was shared,
secrets whispered in the dead of night
as I kicked the door close to keep intruders out
But now I’m tired
All I ask for is a clean floor:
the past swept away
dust to return in the future
just as sunflowers gravitating to daylight
after a long night of drooping
Instead, I find colour
