Roofless by C.L. Liedekev

Inside, the walls still need paint, open can
next to the dried roller, all crust and loss.
The clump of his boots on empty wood
returns no memory- the smell
of her black dye, the way it stained a
simple print on the skin when she wore her
pave ring. Crossed lines that faded as she
eats dinner, one hand raised in wine, other
cigarette stained and conducting each
time she made a point on her day. Now
it was the click of her tongue
on her teeth that he missed most, as the
night settles in the house, another stranger.

C.L. Liedekev is a writer/propagandist who lives in Conshohocken, PA with his real name, wife, and children. He attended most of his life in the Southern part of New Jersey. His work has been published in such places as Horror Sleaze Trash, Television Religion, Open Skies Quarterly, The Red Hibiscus, River Heron Review, and Impspired. His real goal is to make the great Hoboken poet/exterminator Jack Wiler proud. So far, so good.