for my mikey



the basement has slept for weeks, stirred and awakened by my return.

bags half-unpacked sunbathe upon the wood floor;

on the bar - papers, keys and overflowing boxes sit like a mountain range;

couches hide under camouflage canopies; chairs lay concealed by coats of clothing;

mr. fuzzy sits guard amidst the laundry - in complete teddy-bear triumph;

perfect silence has settled in starched sheets over the furniture.



she enters with widening eyes, bounds down the stairs (two at a time);

slowly rediscovering each corner, each light switch, each door.

she closes her eyes, inhales musty february; runs her fingers over the walls.

she skips and spins, dancing pixie-like from one end of the basement to the other;

her giggle smacking gently against the wall. lapping at the wall as waves upon the jetty.



she focuses her eyes upon me, the laughter gone from her face.

i sweep her into her arms, press my lips to her neck, breathe in her shampoo

(a motion that draws the breath from her body in a low, soft moan.)

"mine," my whispered explanation - answered by her quickened heartbeat.

her stainy hands slide over my face and ears -

her dainty hands and my rugged hands; mingle palm-to-palm.



the basement witnesses voiceless conversations

and contactless carcasses beneath dimmed lights.

it is filled with eyes that watch from beyond the clutter.