Sometimes
The afternoon
Sleeps like a lazy dog
By my window
Hiding from the sun
And while in the shade,
You remain a beautiful
ghost
I sound like a stone
unturned.
Mumbling to myself beneath
the surface
Becoming an island
Drifting like a tale
Away from your stories
Over evenings stretched
out into
Secret promises of the
rain
Where doused, we make our
way
Out of clothes, and
Into words
Fleeting like deadwood
Above conversations of
smoke
That fly out of the window
I forgot to close.