Where Families Used to Grow

Pale faces big and bright for the camera flash, as you can hear them breathing. 

Teeming with life as the flash expands in due cementing these small dying trees as they bloom into exposed leaves that develop nice and slow. Their smiles peel like wallpaper as the colors run for the hills in years retrograde- cut the lights, and kill the heat we have uprooted them for better days. Another nights as the coals of ignited memories exhale over and over in fleeting hisses they climb these halls for a breathe of fresh air in this town. Dust settles in the four walls as ivy climbs for Everest, and the rest feeds of this slow burn as they melt into memory that even ghosts don't haunt. The prying eyes that wrapped their eyes in silver, and brass for the years of peeping the doors, and frames creek in four-four time. Bellows of the years, as stairs concave the silent symphony of one day finally getting down. 

Heartfelt paths shiny and clean, aging like rust into the rooms we slept, and dreamt of the fine art of patience. Calm around the collar the lights that we house fleeted into the midnight as the stories we lived blend into one floor, and reveal the air we shared behind closed doors where gardens used to grow. Clouds roll through the skylights always dim we seek to find the time that has taken it's time in getting to know the frames, and nails that link us from head to heart. Dust settles crashing and hugging the surface forever complacent, as we confess with mouths full of arterial felt linings. Like butterflies the good intentions prepared in bloom, gloom over the furniture crafting the waltz of forgotten feelings. Cut down to size we lay in place undisturbed, but always observed by the caution we took, the turns we mistook, as I lay here in perfect symmetry as the curdled floorboards paint lived out scenery.