grossly sincere

In fluorescent white rooms, door to door,
Sidling along backs and soft excuses
A month full of familiar and recycled tunes
Through the flame and spill of gasoline,
Violet, magenta, and obsidian blooms.

When you come calling:
The light lingering in the kitchen
Hair gathering on the bathroom tile
Laundry, clean and dirty alike, gathered in a pile—
I am swept off my feet
And my twisted ankle aches.

But there is laughter and looks exchanged,
And blue floods my sight
The clock sprints and vanishes,
The sun and the moon dance away
In unrelenting and unabashed joy.

A caressing breeze tickles the back of my neck
The wind whips its tendrils against bare skin
Shutters come rattling down, the lock is turned;
a turning in the stomach,
in the dark,
eyes ahead.