.
the key, m’lord?
Did you secret it away
to some safe isle?
I see you still
leaning at the threshold,
your face to be read
and kissed a million times
like a beloved poem.
.
The chambermaid swears
the room never cooled.
She says the walls spark and flare
like the burning bush.
And at night
I fiddle with the lock, m’lord —
under what mat
did you stow the key?
.
(c) 1995, 2016 Betty Hayes Albright
.
For the next poem in this series, please click here for “Just for Tonight”.
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