Backdoor Blues

You checked
on my door

expanding 
With heat.

i could
make you
wooden door
in the
summer time,

but I
didn’t
kiss you.

you were
leaving
and said,

“so this
is the bike
you carry
up and down
3 flights
of stairs.”

i thought,

“yes, I am
looking
at him;

have yet
to ride it.”

Published by

oiseauxwords

I am bird, these are my words.

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