As fingers weave,
Through thick- black hair.
The low defensive copy of trees can’t protect it,
A dark corner of my mind is forever illuminated,
I look away scared of what I will see.
They still seem to- dance,
Hours after being spilt,
The more I take
The more I am given
Yet the more I am given,
The more must be taken.
There are tears,
From your beautiful eyes.
Quickly slipped on follow you,
I can hear the sound of your bare feet
Against the cold- hardwood floors,
As fingers reach,
For hands- that are already turning the doorknob,
You said I hurt you,
In places- that couldn’t heal,
I am left in an empty doorway,
Lady Luck- Please, come back to me.
© Copyright 2016 Sam HR. All rights reserved.