Ribbons wrap an old memory like silk
slipped into the velvet of yesterdays’ smile
we wait for the return of shadows

Watch close, it is always noon somewhere else
feet rest upon the ottoman mass produced
even the spilled milk worries and wallows

wailing at the wind a flag held by string
our limp wrists dance like wires after a storm
powerless, are the letters we swallow

ears pressed to the carpeted floor retired
as we wait for the rumble of covered earth
cement mixes into the chests we borrowed

Quick, draw your name before it hardens
swift, before the ribbon ties your hands
stitched with promises of tomorrow

by Kevon Simpson © 2014