minet

Your scent is of heat,
Of dark-places
Of displaced tableaux
Played out, unseen, in suburban gloom.

Of days, long days, that seem to have no end
And a waiting window, illuminated.
Wallpaper you didn’t choose
Reminds you how far you are from home.

Of the places you long to be
When the night is black and stark corridors call.
Dusty faced they sing to you
Songs you tried not to hear.

Come walk with me in these dark interludes,
Where the silence hangs heavy
With the restless crackle of anticipation.
Your age shows in your little hands.