Cobwebs

n the back of the house
Down the steps
The arthritic creak of boards,
The cobwebs in the corners hang like banners of a war
That we lost.
The cooling embers
In the fireplace
Loose their glow.
And when we talk
We never talk
We only lie together.
But my heart is still bulletproof.
When we were young our idle hands
Held each other as we’d prattle on for hours
With mouths of sand of the countries where we’d yet to plant our flags.
In the back of the house
Down the steps
The arthritic creak of boards,
The cobwebs in the corners hang like banners of a war.
And when we talk
We never talk
We only lie together.
But my heart is still bulletproof.