My door is closed
in the dark, and
if you don’t make
it back by the
time the night
meets the ground,
I will not let you in.
My curtains will be drawn,
and so will your time
have come to it’s end.
I reminded you
of the curfew,
and I told you;
the cold will kill.
But you layered up
and you went out too far
and now my door is
no longer ajar.
You may not enter here.
You can curl up
on the welcome mat,
and try to regulate your
breathing. So you don’t die.
But until the sun sticks
its hands over the edge
of the view from
my window,
you may not,
for any reason,
set foot,
in my home.
Please don’t cry
or bang on the door.
Don’t rattle the glass,
or try the back gate.
You were warned,
and now it’s too late.

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