ticking along
the yellow walls, along which
my hands run smoothly, raking up
the dust from older versions
of myself, take a minute to step
back and open up to the sunlit
yellow house behind us.
the dimming sky, within which
there are no snickers left
from prating globs of light,
takes a second to swoop down
and spread its arms above our
bowed heads.
the key in my pocket, waiting still
by itself, away from the jingle of its kind,
to find the moment of escape,
pushes against the thigh of another,
still asking questions that never will matter to any of us.
my hands run smoothly, raking up
the dust from older versions
of myself, take a minute to step
back and open up to the sunlit
yellow house behind us.
the dimming sky, within which
there are no snickers left
from prating globs of light,
takes a second to swoop down
and spread its arms above our
bowed heads.
the key in my pocket, waiting still
by itself, away from the jingle of its kind,
to find the moment of escape,
pushes against the thigh of another,
still asking questions that never will matter to any of us.
posted by peter pan at 5:44 pm
1 Comments:
thank you for the respite from the mundane world of yellow files. my world. i don't share your memory lane but the feelings remain the same.
and remember, no more fresh(wo)men shona .. :)
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