Asymmetric nylons…

I always know where to find you
tightly packed away in a dusty chest
at the far end of things that didn’t go to plan
I still recall the view late at night
and yet the room is a distant blur of nylons
crisp cider and munchies
our hunger was insatiable
nourished finally by the morning breakfast
and then, you fell beneath
the stampede of regret? Or panic perhaps?
And so the tide washed away the scent
and you shuttered down the doors,
absentmindedly hitting like from one
year to the next as you wander through
your days.

Karen Hayward ©2020 image and words

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