THE ROOM

The door was ajar and pushing it I saw a room with flowers and sunlight in the windows and then you turned and smiled with jewels in your eyes.
I would have stood and gazed, studying the light on your cheek and in your hair and the way it defined your ear, and wondered how a room could be so abundantly filled with treasure, but you said "Come in" and held out your hand and I felt the softness of your skin, and bending, kissed you, your face upturned, your sudden mouth warm against my lips.

How often have I pushed that door and seen you sitting there?
Every day for many years I visited that room, but now the open door slams shut; and though I push and call your name, I hear the turning key. Before my very eyes, the door disolves into the wall, and there's no trace of it; the skin is broken on my fists, broken by the bricks, and all alone I walk away into loneliness.