Quite the perfect day for a stroll

you take a turn up my street

it must be the red and gold

that line the street that catch your eye

a glance in the right direction

at just the right time

 

You see it

the brick face sticking out amongst the trees

your curiosity steers you towards it

the front is boarded up

so you loop round the back

and maybe it’s just a second

but the clock on the mantelpiece seems to forget

that there is such a thing as the moving of its hands

 

And there I feel it

how you look into me

the peering of someone into a window

pressing their face up against the glass

eyes wandering around the interior

taking in the old piano

and the empty photo frames

with no intention of trying the front door

and I try my best

to pour every last drop of my soul

into the brown oblivion of you

hoping you soak up all you can

hoping you’ll trust me to absorb yours