By Katje Kaase

Open the door.

What secrets abide?

Dust and debris

on dancing shoes.

A tangled tango

of nerves inside.

Glaring graffiti

written in red,

like lipstick smeared

over words not said.

A life not spent.

Perfume that lingers

in an empty room.

All that's left

is the fragrant scent.

October, 2019