markbousfield

She carried a red suitcase
as she walked on her tippy toes
to the front door,

the latch slowly unclicked
and silently she sprung away
into the Summer morning.

The crisp air lingered over her wry smile,
self satisfied and unchaste.

It caressed her ruddy cheeks
and clung inside the pockets of her weary eyes.

There she left him sleeping peacefully,
wrapped unawares in their sweaty sheets,
sleeping so peacefully
in the season of unfolding new life.

So deeply he slept as the train whisked her away,
in her red suitcase she had taken her fill,
her fill of his family silver; spoons, knives and trays,
stolen whilst he moaned under the haze of yet another sleeping pill.

Exeunt

[And for all of you that were wondering, this is what I look like in a cardigan, inspired by JW]

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