This Middle We Live In

This middle we live in:
so vast we seem directionless,
even lost.

Born into a floating city,
temporary as trade routes,
in our wake we leave roads
down which we often look,
pausing mid-scan,
hoping to be gained upon.

I have you
in your nightrobe.
You have me waiting
against the tent flap.

I hate to go to bed
with my teeth unclean.
Then again, remember
all the broken things
we lived with for so long?

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s