Night Chill

in the vacant living room
our packed boxes never touched,
black mold assumes the ceiling fan.
it awakens every morning
wanting to spin,

to slice into the air
with its fine blades

a surgery of breathing

and the chest waits
for your steady palm
to resuscitate

those numb nights,
when our billowed heat
cooled our voluminous bits


(originally published in Scarlet Leaf Review)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s