forgotten room
As the night fades in
The voices begin to seep through
The walls
Inquiring about the day
You can hear the bodies stretch in relief
Inhaling the dust
Coughing out a laugh
Three knocks mean silence
As the door rings
A fragile package is delivered
Four knocks mean safe
With haste
We place the package
Behind my grandfather’s old bookcase
Sealing it through the passage
From the walls, voices praise in harmony
You can hear bodies embracing
Two knocks mean
Thank you
As tears filled the room
—Qween
