• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 12
Image by

Separate Floors

You slide a rusted key to me
along a curving wire
connecting our two windows
in rooms on separate floors.
I've heard you sing for years
inside my prison cell. Each day
you've been my wakeup call
each night you've helped me fall
asleep. Your tiny key promises
much more. I've never seen
your eyes, and I realise
I might be ugly in your sight.
Anxiously, I search for locks
of fitting size and draw
multiple blanks. Finally relieved
I understand your proffered metaphor –
we will remain connected,
always breathing on separate floors.