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You are immaculate, polished, pure cobblestone hands.

A bird on the wing,

on the verge of everything.

Glistening windows that

                                          fall

                                                from

                                                          your

                                                                 hair,  pouring out the salty seawater; and yet trying to understand is metal chains, you and I clanking against the back door.

Mother calls out, making sound, but you’ve taken love again,

rushing in time, moving in the patterns of vision and light. Look back? No, never.

Inch by inch, yard by yard, you steal; a crime. A criminal. Thief.

Red blossom of dripping pigment running

                                                              sickeningly

through my mind.

© Copyright 2013CL Hotchkiss All rights reserved. CL Hotchkiss has granted theNextBigWriter, LLC non-exclusive rights to display this work on Booksie.com.