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doorbell MAG
April 5, 2011
Everything she owns
is coffee-stained
she permanently smells of
velvet perfume; coffee
Looks like dry skin and sleep
writing herself in
compass-less
circles
recounting sheep
until she falls awake
and walks her dreams
You call her creep,
she doesn't see,
but turns inside to face
her brain
where new thoughts
Crawl,
pink, raw as the rough
patch on your
knuckle
from where you
knocked and
knocked
but no one answered.
© Cori V., Wolfforth, TX
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