Sonnet X, in blank verse

I started early, took my dog, and watched
the aching asphalt stoop to kiss the dirt,
maintaining that its old bones didn’t hurt
that much. It withered, and it melted fast,
a cringing ice cube dying in the grass,
the shivered color of eye shadow that
I’m not allowed to wear: deep, blooming black.
A silence. The cold way the absence chips
at its existence proves the painful fact
that roads can be eroded with great ease.
Forget the way we crumble, and ignore
the flashing lights around the street. It’s all
a window, cracked— and stained— and dark. The point
of being here is covered up by barks.

(writing challenge)

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