4 white walls wound
with words in
Music sounding
this San Francisco
Hotel room

A generous measure
of abnormal tone
steps onto the welcome mat
of dawning light
reflecting shadows
of unforgiving streets
against the wall

Dust on the windowsill
crystallizes emotions of sorrow
A stain on the carpet
bleeds a river of all that once was
No hot water
chills the skin growing thick and strong
A bed spring’s high pitch creek
sings her voice from the song
of finite imperfections
Leading into a
last dance
with the night
turning her ‘til dawn
with no interruptions.