P. I. – lace

I think so
but then again it feels
we do not think at all.

it started drizzling
soft needles against glass
paper thin
sometimes I wonder

how this slow stirring thunder
lead her through
the glass framed door
in front of my desk

good legs, nice frame
and hair on finest thread
a chaste

she asked me where
her lover was
he had run out one night
since then
he has never been sighted

with the lover’s quarrel
I can’t keep hearing lies
I get too caught up with

she stills
strucks a match at her heels
awaits, attentive
pulls on smoke

yes I will find the coward
of course I will
once I step upon a line
of vibrant thoughts
of minds connected
I need to run with it
i’ll need
a pay for
another week maybe two
missing is one thing
hiding is not

she nods again
not one smile
her lip’s only movement
up and down
then a nod

I whistle a good bye
while two lace struck legs
of the more expensive taste
leave my wooden old door
shut quickly behind