A key to the garden gate

for love is

religion isn’t

shaking power

already given to

no need for graphite

oil in the mechanism

parted the rose thorns

brushed away rust years

the keyhole shines of buff

fresh coats of tears on wood

all paths lead to the threshold

you wake up blinking into the sun

heat rises in your eyelashes of pain

a phone wandering late into the night

missing how it should unmake me feel

the wall is standing taller against stares

swept the inside clear of dirt and shrub

planted flowers for what it was before

threw dirt on what it never will be

crammed clay in the lockway

stuck a nail in the keyway

it was never locked

still you pound

from far

astray

of me

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