You let your mind decide what your soul wants.
You close the door,
hands shaking on the handle,
resisting and reminiscing,
how they held me on autumn evenings,
the door is shut.
Your mind tries to sooth a sobbing soul,
mine is happy to be lost,
because being among the darkness,
placed on milk cartons,
feels less like loneliness,
than we are used to.
I leave my door alone.
Letting it open and close at your leisure,
because I don’t want to be complicated,
so I let you come and go,
as your mind commands your soul.