It is my heart and I would think
I know its avenues and alley
but I look inward and I am lost
as a tourist is lost in a new city -

or an excursionist long, gone
traveling far, wide, over seas,
upon the turn of knob and key
returns to a home no longer his

but is occupied by another
whose legs drape on the armrest
of his chair like a limp cloth.
A bird has made inside me its nest.


1 year ago with 146 notes


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