blade

a tile floor, your feet don't fall they press, heel tip, nothing in between.
calculated, the sneaking of hidden hushed desires
creep through the empty house
searching for the shoulder to tap and say,
i changed my mind

deliver the caliber within you
this steel, cold cutting, grey
dulled by the rouge bands of years
you have collected like scars

an ounce of effort in a box
held just an arms length too far
i decide despite your confusion
boots on, walking away intent on wishing you a sharper blade


cut through your quiet limitation
silent house in the still meadow by the glassy pond
find the quake