On Napkins

Behind the door was everything I ever wanted—

the door I had drawn on a napkin

and left behind on the table after I paid my bill

I walked the streets as though wandering the desert

pretending I couldn’t hear the deities between the dunes

calling out promises with tongues of gold

The world in exchange for nothing much, just my soul

They were easy to ignore

with my hand in my pocket wrapped around my ballpoint pen

that I knew I could use to draw everything I ever wanted

on the next napkin I found

This feels a little different from what I normally write. Hope you like it!

Photo by Zoran Borojevic on Unsplash

14 thoughts on “On Napkins”

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