Shoebox

a poem.

Your photographic footprint
Is the essence of the skin
On the palms of my hands
Sometimes it feels
But sometimes it’s dry
Brittle, ham-fisted to a moist goodbye
I walk away by dawn
But say hello to the sunset above me
As it turns to it’s backside
Sleeping ‘til I sing
I don’t sing anymore, so you’ve heard
And I’m ready to never set kiss
On your foot again