Penthouse

Thirty-eight years old Tonight The candles melted down Into the butcher block Your screen is glowing Blue against the marble I poured the vintage Cabernet you brought from Spain Left dinner warming while You checked your mail Again My hair is pinned the way You used to pull it loose You barely look up from Your glass of grapefruit Juice I spent an hour in the Mirror with the lace You walked right by me Like an unfamiliar place You call me solid Call me steady like the Floor Then leave your coat and Slip behind the bedroom Door I am not a fixture on the Wall I am not the paint that Does not peel at all You think because I do not Cry out in the dark There is no fire left Inside this little spark I am not wallpaper in the Penthouse we designed You look right through the Sweetest years you will Ever find I keep the lights down Standing in the frame While you forget the Syllables inside my name I am not wallpaper Watching from the shelf Before you look at me I will remember myself My twenties burned like Paper in an open grate Now I am grown Deliberate and running Straight I hold the mortgage and The company accounts You like the balance sheet You like the round amounts I wore the emerald silk You bought in Singapore You stepped around me on Your way to lock the door I am too young to be a Ghost inside a chair Too sharp to beg you for An accidental stare I am not a fixture on the Wall I am not the paint that Does not peel at all You think because I do not Scream when you go blind That I have left my hunger And my pulse behind I am not wallpaper in the Penthouse we designed You look right through the Sweetest years you will Ever find I keep the lights down Standing in the frame While you forget the Syllables inside my name I am not wallpaper Watching from the shelf Before you look at me I will remember myself Look at these hands They never shake Look at this heart It did not break You think that comfortable Is all I want to be You shut your eyes and Called it harmony The door is open And I look incredible Tonight I am not wallpaper in the Penthouse we designed You look right through the Sweetest years you will Ever find I keep the lights down Standing in the frame While you forget the Syllables inside my name I am not wallpaper Watching from the shelf Before you look at me I will remember myself Thirty-eight Keys on the marble Turn around and look at What you lost