Disabled by Fruit

Disabled by fruit and fullness, the pure husk of a papered day molds to dull. Ancient birds resolve the dark. Soft replies from a whimpering. Clouds roam over the surface of a puddle in an empty alley. Soon the stumbling feet will invade my thinking. I’m thinking against them. Trying to sleep near a window, a simple window, my pulse betrays resolve. Lying awake in a cool room following the sounds of footsteps as they search. Soft fingers and torments mellow me. The puddle breaks with rain.