You close the doors with the door, take my hand in yours
in the last stronghold of all thinking allowed.
It’s the spot left for love, which is being territorial.
Here are the light and the retina now,
don’t look into it:
everything that bathes in will be alluvium.
You are so close, your shirt’s turned down collar
and its opening to a dormant fire.
I speak coldly into your mind
so it may flesh out in warmth.
Ill-lit corridors keep track of that one thing which leads to another
and clears the way backwards.
Veronica Valeanu is an English teacher at National College Mihai in Buzău, Romania. In her free time, between grading papers, she blogs poetry at survivivore.wordpress.com.
Copyright © 2013 by Veronica Valeanu