|
James Babbs |
|
Middle of May it was the middle of may about a month before summer when you went away but nights I dreamed of you sometimes awakening certain I heard you coming through the back door and I swear I heard you climbing the stairs your weight pressing down on the third one from the top and the sound of the creaking wood filling the air but when I turned toward the door and waited for you it was twenty years later and I knew that's when I knew you were never coming home no one knows how many times can I stare at the ceiling fan and wonder to myself what the fuck am I doing here |