Good House

Memory lasts

while
his fingertips thread across my body

Ice melts, the pain unbearable,
my raw flesh too long shut out in the snow.

Eye-rivers,
awestruck frogs
leap to my throat.

Get out! Get out!
Oh god, get out.

Words across the screen,
while
warm heat presses deep.
My heart heats, like stone under sun,
streaks run out to my limbs.

My friends, they will not rock.
They have seen my storm
and not run.
They have slaked my thirst
with uncommon waters.

Fear rushes.
The memory, the moment, lost.

I am safe, growing a forest in here.

The foundation is not rotted,
there are windows to be replaced

But it’s a Good House

back