October 19, 2011
his hand was as cold
as the shining doorknob
throbbing gold and locked
in her memory
keys and cords
kept choking
the copper pipes
in her old home
so barefoot she walked
the stone path
to the doorbell
rusted raspy
corroded happiness
dusted her fingertips
and attic air caked her lips
as she reached
for his hand
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