Sunday, September 18, 2011

The wooden floor

You can feel it under you
it's telling you the secrets of the ticking grandfather clock
whispering the echoes of ancient
pitter patters
into your waiting soles
its iciness surprises you
and your toes curl in a faint attempt at warmth
but it quickly captures your heart
i mean heat
and absorbs the dreams your head is too buzzed to keep.

I mean, that's where they escape to, the dreams... you know?
Where else would they go?

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