We are them in many ways,named for past lovers, who fought each day with their spirits lit up in a flare of revel to keep it all close. (There is nothing new under the sun).

I pay homage each time I see you in the hall and when I sit with my back to the bedpost and reach up to hold your hand while you pass from throb to thought.

This room has been walked in before, and the walls ache just like the rest of the world. It is the freeze of the death; the mourning of blood from our thoughts.

This is a hotel of hearts. Choose carefully, choose nothing?

I walk until I reach the dawn.

© Lauren Bernhagen 2012