Icing

They started an avalanche
Their endless arguments purer next door
She whispers smiles with a sprained ankle.
Housekeeping steps passed the stranded hall
Ice cubes on the elevators ash tray
A pressure sinks her silver stare.
His rusts dust, hair mire, penny rolls, gone
All her colors now rest on silver charms, silver clocks,
Silver boxes, and silver numbers. And
Because of this she kept his mirror, -
A paper cup.

poem by jonathan Juarez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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