(no subject)

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A lantern hangs
In your modern vestibulum -
Moroccan green cut glass
Throws your splintered gaze
Across the slate tiled path.
A tabby perches
In this intersection.
It's ovaled eyes capture the
Street lamps
whilst fingers wreathe around
Tangled metal rolling
Over and under.
And our hedge, recently cut,
Lies in scattered tatters
forcing a damp redolence to flirt
with the air.
I patter back to
The pavement;
to the familiar terraced row.

I thought I saw your face at the window.

The caress of curtains against the glass showed me
I was no longer home.