Blueprint No. 1: Siemon St.

1 May 2017

The only place I ever lived
alone, but slept myself out
of the memory. My room
crammed with king-frame
more manspread than bed-
spread – creamy linen sheets
but no quilt. The bed clothed
entirely in light. The window
doubled as front door. Thin
curtains lifted in the honey-
vinegar of swollen mangoes,
which split like lightning split
the street in two. Beyond,
wine-bottle storms doused
the room in green petrichor.
The night’s lapping tongue
and sleepless groove – an
inseparable expanse of lines.

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