Look mum, I can rhyme!

[teacupbandits]

.
.
Tiptoe across the carpet
while the night is thick and still,
my feet are wet with memory,
from the after party chill.
The room is blind
but I can feel the breathing of the  walls,
the carpet's Chinese whispers
swelling up and down the hall.
I click the lock, it spits, and sounds
just like your spine aligning,
the wind sticks to me: I glow,
I'm slick, I'm black and I am shining.
Like an oil spill from your front door
and underneath the moss,
I flood the lungs of tiny things,
all hiding from the frost.