That Same Charm

A poem

As inky evening skids softly to a conclusion,

the story finishes as it tends to do.

That same charm

holds me

Sway.

MIND-Bound.

Reflections all travel up the same street and stop at the same number.

How come

I so often

succumb?

Play dumb?

Become one

and numb

with the fun?

Fumble with my

feelings

and mumble

and reel back

when

I’m seeking

not to tumble into

lack

again?

As morning slides quietly closer to me,

the story finishes as it tends to do…

That same charm

holds me

Sway.

HEART-Bound…

Reflections all travel up the same street and stop at the same number.