We’ll beg to know
what’s behind door
number one, two
and three. Salivate.
Plastic hands wave
and shake in shadows
cast by facade. Faces
faithlessly gleaming
in dead light. Frantic
and afraid of what’s
next.
Poetry & Verse by Nicholas Alzate
We’ll beg to know
what’s behind door
number one, two
and three. Salivate.
Plastic hands wave
and shake in shadows
cast by facade. Faces
faithlessly gleaming
in dead light. Frantic
and afraid of what’s
next.
