a yellow house.
pale yellow with a grayish wood
latticed over its outsides
and ivy creeping
with tiny white flowers rolling between.
a dog
chases a horse for fun.
they toss their little necks
and run together,
kicking up fine dust filled with
fallen stars catching
echoes of light in their
coffee in the percolater
cycling through.
the brick chimney puffing
from the kitchen.
a covered bridge from here
to whatever honeypot
we dare to get our paws in.
imagine the lichens
on the treeposts,
our bedsheets drying in the wind
because we like the way it smells.
the garden,
a mess of course,
lined with raspberries and blackberries
you pick for me so i can make us cobbler
for evening.
a little land,
with much to do.
a little me,
a little you.
we’d run out and grab the sheets as an afternoon storm blew through
and make love until the toothpick
comes out clean.
could you imagine
the fool
who built this?
her eyes are dry
and her hair is wrapped in silk.
she thinks about how hard it is
to trust herself
when she was so, incredibly wrong
the first time.
when her every intuition
has brought her wheelbarrows of pain.
and yet,
she lies in bed and thinks
about the almostlove again.
she brought the plants in today.
said they must be cold out there but
she did it for the company.
her own quiet horse and dog.
cherished play things.
she hopes her almostlove will leave her.
the house is getting small.


One thought on “almostlove

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