Walking home, I saw through a basement window. <br /> <br /> It was <br />like dark <br /> <br />Clusters of cellar spiders, the orchard <br />in the courtyard of the cold wet floor. <br /> <br />I couldn't go anywhere else, <br />even though it was raining <br />that night <br />and you were waiting. <br /> <br />It's not like you're not used to it by now. <br /> <br />I remember going home <br />to when we first met <br />and I asked you: <br /> <br />'What does it mean? ' <br /> <br />and you told me, <br />in your Scottish accent, <br /> <br />'It doesn't mean anything'.<br /><br />Matthew Christopher<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/passeggiata/
