Heavy Upholstery

The carpet had a pattern meant to hide the dirt,

a swirl of maroon that made my stomach turn.

I wore a clip-on tie that pinched my shirt,

and watched the tall, white candles slowly burn.

They stood me on my tiptoes by the edge.

I thought he’d look like sleep, or maybe stone,

but he looked like fruit left out upon a ledge,

a waxy yellow mask over the bone.

His knuckles had a sheen that wasn't skin,

a polished look, like shoes inside a box.

I didn't want to touch the cold within

or hear the heavy sound of turning locks.