Sunday, April 25, 2010

The Art of Leaving Quietly

Uncovered
by the rising sun
I am naked
while its pouring through the windows,
making itself comfortable amongst the sheets...

Baptized
in the light,
in the name of my own flesh,
I am born again... I am new
in the ascended sun,
daylight like absolution
over this pale skin,
I could not wash it away down the shower drain like your smell

Lingering
in the pillows while I rise,
gather my things on slow feet,
and slip quietly out the door.

1 comment:

  1. We all know the walk of shame, of walking through doorways out into a world we are convinced is entirely aware of the things two people do in bed where no one else sees... but what happens when that walk of shame, that shame of walking, is from an old lovers door? a place you had left so many times before; rooms you had sat in, laughed in, fought in. Rooms that still held your smell... rooms that hadn't forgotten the memory of your name... rooms you now find yourself creeping through on silent feet, rooms that probably reach out towards and and wonder... "why is he leaving?"

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