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

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