Inside
By narcissa
Wed, 15 Sep 2004
- 831 reads
Inside, the carpet ticks
of old dust and forgotten table feet.
The lamp on the shelf
has dimmed almost to oblivion, sweet.
Sometimes a chair creaks
out of nowhere,
and there is an intricate dance
woven over the half-rusted door handle
that no one ever twists.
This is the last room.
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