By: Dominic Moore

prop closet

Pick a book off the shelf
and check if it still bangs.
Rattle a story to see
if it still has life in it
and turn the page
if it still has light.
The heart of an actor
exists only in what they hold
are these roses
funeral flowers
or
congratulations
love me like the pages to a new script.
When you’re done with me
don’t put me in your prop closet.

when the house lights come up

Her glimmering gaze
catches mine, and though
it’s selfish, I wish she’d never blink
so the curtains would never close
on that beautiful blue stage.
The lights always seem to find her and
the costumes are perfect.
Baby if beauty were a play
I’d write it a one woman show
and cast you without an audition.
Darling if loving you was curtain call
your embrace would be the only cheer
worth listening for.

the last drops of creamer in my mug

I can see your face
at the bottom of my coffee mug.
I press my lips to the rim, as if
to lean in for a kiss
but when I finish
all I see is a smiling face
laced with drops of hazelnut creamer
just out of reach. I’ll refill my mug
until the day we may finally meet
so my lips may taste your hazelnut
kiss once more.

mundane memento

I find intimacy in the mundane, painting
backdrops to stories
I won’t do justice writing.
I love this art but I hate how I use it.
Some memories should be lived in
rather than written.
Real poetry carves itself into our souls
without publishing a page, the story being told
only to those who shared
those moments with us.