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Shiver on the windowsill
Nightfall
My eyes
Have become accustomed
To the dark
The floor
A black hole
My feet no surface
A never ending space
The hallway
So coldly alone
An abandoned memory
Nothing and lifeless
The window
Open for a breeze
Curtains dancing
Ghosts of the midnight air
Arms reaching longingly
My pale white fingers
Running along
The windowsill
I imagine
I can feel the breeze
The curtains
Dancing on my skin
It’s time I stop
Going on like this
Pretending every night
And time again
As the window descends
The breeze stops coming through
I find a moments peace
And a lost soul moves on
Perhaps,
the most striking aspect of this poem besides the title is simply the first line that is the hook,
“Nightfall
My eyes
Have become accustomed
To the dark”
all your poems incidentally, have the reader captivated, hook, line and sinker, so to speak. Your words meet the reader’s eyes confidently knowing that they offer a verbal counterpart that would be comparative to mathematical estimates, I surmise you are very conscience of your word count. I like that you are describing an ambiguous relationship with exquisite nuance due to the relative elusiveness of the moment, a breeze, a billowing curtain and your imagination, most influential to your readers and to other interested writers alike.
Stay safe
Be happy
Peace
Dylan
"One of the best results of life, is the torment of love"
Dylan Eliot