Rain

We huddle cuddle close in the peeling-paint-framed-storefront,
Sheltered briefly, only briefly, from the sideways stares of passersby.
Safe from showers, drip drip rain that stains the sidewalk,
And washes away the pastel chalky hopscotch
We drew to decorate our unfeathered nest.

44 words for this week’s d’Verse prompt: rain.

Photo taken by Reza Shayestehpour.

 

Zip-line

Zippo snaps, sparks the flame,
Essential for this daily tinder routine.

Zig zags contain dusty, seedy remains of
His birthday stash from Lex and Jean.

Dad’s lighter, used over years
Engraving’s worn off and disappeared.

What a crazy old ride from cigar to spliff.

Photo by Evan Phillip on Unsplash

Written for this week’s quadrille prompt on d’Verse: use some form of the word ‘zip’.

Murmurs

When he speaks plain truth to himself, not often that is,
He whisper-tells that when he twists door handles, enters,
Rooms chill into icy, stony-silent, thin air.

But his deliberate shuffle awakens low-register murmurs,
Piercing, hot hissed hums.
Air full, no, fat.
Like him.

44 word quadrille for today’s dVerse Pub