The tombs take time to trace tracks
to trade tears, to try.
They tally, tally, tinker, twist. Tap together, tally.
Their testimony tumbles temperate to the tenders.
Then two tasteless tongues tip themselves toward the trafficked trails;
trivial, timid treason.
The tombs' terrible transaction takes toll, takes trust, takes time.
The transfer to totality takes time.
About the Creator
Kelsey Thompson
Kelsey Thompson resides in the Washington, DC area and writes about love and confidence.
Keep reading
More stories from Kelsey Thompson and writers in Poets and other communities.
Just Sixty Seconds
Oliver sat at a cold, grey steel-covered table. He knew he was next. The longer he sat here, the more confident he knew he wouldn’t make it. His hands were tied to the chair he was sitting on, pushed up against the steel table. A small camera in the corner of the ceiling with a tiny red flashing light was the only thing he was focused on. He felt sick to the stomach. He knew he didn’t have long.
By Joshua Maggs7 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.