Vanishing cream
spread on thick
gives me chills;
drives me hot.
Life is finding you're gone;
fighting for air,
suction inhaling
between the scenes
and flickering.
Queen in the keyholes
with white gloves
points a finger.
The castle moves forward
and back.
My sanctuary is lost.
I am left shaking this
crackerjack box.
© May 5 2014 -Sonja J. Johnston
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