Where We Slept Together

I open the doors of my house at night
I latch the screens

Allegory of love
Like a dog shaking all over
Like a bite that itches six inches deep

My old radio is like a toothache
Someone had in summers past
Another place set at the table
There are no longer any shotguns or guitars
In my house

There is a lotion for the hands

Each blister another
Blood-shot moon

A yawn a blessing in disguise
A branch where a bush grows
Its thorns
Allegory of love

There are bookshelves I threw together
I took the lumber
From a horse thief's barn

© Ginny Stanford