Surreptitious leftover sentiments slip in through open windows,
slink around in cobwebbed corners, breathing and breeding,
conjuring charismatic ghosts of love, demons of disrespect,
echoing heartbreak and humiliation,
stealing oxygen from the here and now, forgotten memories
surfacing at exactly the wrong moment,
wringing saltwater from my eyes,
scooping and scraping my heart out of its rhythm,
forcing a funeral drum to beat my blood through my veins,
searing images of what once was into the soft, scarred tissue
that doesn’t remember how it felt
to be whole.
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
Intrusive rhyme bothers me, except as a weapon.
Intertextuality is my passion.
Formalist/ New Critical are my guiding theories.
My words are mine, not a robot’s.
MA English literature, CofC
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