Candle Wax Voices
On the morning of all the saints, he steps out of the sunlight like a match emerges from a dying flame. I’m driving too fast. I barely see him in his clandestine black suit and carrying a Wal-Mart sack until he steps out of my path. He never looks back.
voices beyond . . .
candle wax crusted
on the windowsill
—–
Today’s also the first day for the November Poem A Day Challenge. Today’s prompt was “matches.”
Yay Words! 
wow! I am not entirely sure I grasped the deeper meaning (if there is one!) but your words painted a vivid picture and left me thinking about them. Specially loved the “candle wax crusted” so mundane and yet so significant 🙂
Thank you, Sapna!