20800
3
Underneath the floor boards of my memories a digital time capsule produced a ripple in unsound vibrations
The days were numbered but in this crawl space, time seized and my many nightmares ganged my phobia in this conundrum
I discovered a rusted doormat of sweet nothings smudged in the refuge of lost touch and marveled in the lost marbles of an abandoned boxed Mancala set
Fears that whispered in the northern breeze, found keep in the warmth of disappointment
Underneath the floor boards of memories was the taste of pleasure sounds, the sights of lust’s aroma oozing from the backlighting of the highlight reel and the smells of echo’s sound waves
In this moment, I drew an abstract line in the lawns of our lies, I shouldered more demons than angels, and reclaimed periods that erupted in cremated tears on hour glass windowpanes
It seemed. That, in this scramble. We were eager to reveal who we are
But we never destroy the home suite
