Dearface

Look
at the tales that
lay
in these twisted
sleeping palms.
They are
the daybreaks
worst greeting.
Arched
knotted fingers
that
weave through
shattered air,
silently etching
muted
jade
regret
into the
breath of pillows.

Sister!
Look,
at the clothes that have been ungraciously cast upon this
splintered floor.
They beckon so
longingly for your removal
that
their heads have snapped
in shame.

Was it the nitty gritty
night?
Assessed from the
agitation of coquettish
heels.

Cariña,
oh dearface
look,
the exit is paved
with curious insects
and
as your grip on the
floor is released...
See?
The knob will turn
with
natural elegance.