Euphemism
Closed wooden door that opens to
wandering thoughts that do go
places that billow aglow
for that brass handle does hold
a century of secret bellows.
the slender length that curves your hand
and feels the warmth inside expand
unfolding the heavy doors
our tiny steps spring the floor
the brass doth shine
in our wistful eyes
as the herculean doors fly open
we are but left to bathe in air of golden
