the stairs

by riverwilding

ghost to ghost

we lie on the stairs

ugly, burnt orange carpeted


I work my way up her neck

she says: “That’s more like it.”

but does not kiss me back


she wants to hear every story

behind the pictures on the wall

and she leaves little notes tucked

inside the clasp of my bra


then I see her black hair

filled with wind from the west

as she makes her back door exit