of all the swirling doubts
that fill the air
like mosquitos
on a hot june evening
sensing sweet nectar
the warm pulsing of blood
it comes back
time and time again


there was a candle in the window
of the second story room
the light danced
sending elongated images
of nefarious deeds
across the peeling wallpaper
just within
the halo’s reach

the glimmer of steel
the soft sounds of struggle
a cry
a collapse
the sound of rushing steps
in the humid air
of waning promise


passion flares
ignited by proximity
engulfing the night
a beacon
fireworks exploding
at the edge of vision
a crackling hiss
of questions unspoken


3 thoughts on “why

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