These Brick Halls
By lupus tenebrae
The bricks called to me
in echolocation,
under the guise of festivals
and train whistles,
just to bring
me back here.
Here, where I took refuge
in the hallways
once,
and the gentle trot
of someone special
always came
up behind me.
It doesn’t take a bloodhound
to sniff out
my nostalgia,
and its pungent perfuming
of turf and puppy love.
“Never let me leave”, I utter,
but the doors are open
anyway,
and the London fog rolls in
just in time, to catch a
single tear.
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Copyright 2012 lupus tenebrae
Published on Sunday, September 16, 2012.
Filed under: "Non-Fiction" and
"Poetry"