It’s a dark colour and it opens with a knock.
Or two.
Footsteps, a pause, then the click.
That’s the order of it.
I like the pause.
I know she’s looking at me through the small lens.
Just for a second.
The well oiled brass deadbolt prepares for its surrender.
Again.
The smooth click of defeat.
Unlocked, unbolted, unnecessary.
Open.
In.
Click.
The lock is a lock once more.
Now with two in its charge.
No Tall Stories 
December 1st, 2013 at 2:38 pm
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December 1st, 2013 at 4:55 pm
Reblogged this on sueshan123blog.
February 4th, 2014 at 4:23 am
I’d just like to say, I find this poem to be absolutely beautiful.