I can cross the threshold, but angry shadows can not slip pass through the keyhole labyrinth. Savoring a kiss that steams up our glasses, two bookworms, we miss so much, except to remain embrace-ably warm before we take up our quills to dot another i. So, we clean our lenses and start over, in this drafty barn, a place to hang our hearts.
image: Lee Friedlander, 1966
posted by phil at 10:22 PM
phil
wandering
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86° 17' W
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This blog dedicated to my father and mother.
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6 Comments:
Tasty, very tasty. Like this very much.
Neat interpretation of a tricksy prompt.
In just three lines you managed to tell a great story ...
Steamed up glasses tell a wonderful story of their own - bu not as good as the one you gave us...:)
Taking my glasses off to wipe the steam...
It sounds like they're not missing the important things.
Merry Christmas, Phil... xoxoxo
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