The Right Key
Metal hills Gold valleys A ragged row Of cut teeth mountains That catch on the ridges of my fingertip And bump along the grooves of skin That make up my finger print I look without seeing To make sure it's the right one Holding it up to the light coming from The neighbor's red hot tail lights Exposing the curve The glimmering shine That reflects in the dark black morning like blood red wine Metal on metal It stumbles through the tumblers And a snap of the wrist Clacks the lock shut Putting aside my desire to stay It's not really a choice, I have to walk away When I actually want to walk back in Down the slippery sprinkler-wet sidewalk Wishing it was the hour That I could walk back up it again