hinge
door in our place i never open out of fear and too much want touch the knob — i am shocked
sounds like a party in there but where is my invitation? missing out doesn’t scare me
sometimes, it’s open a crack scents from the kitchen waft my favorite dish on the menu
i give up. nothing better to do splayed on gray wool, rubbing nothing matches their rhythm
the guests tire, it swings open streamers and confetti spilling must be my job to clean ’em up