gone is the illusion
which clouded just how
wooden the walls really are
&how the doors are but cheap
plastic&nails.
the carpet which once burned
in a frenzy of shared breathing
&the fusion of warm, young skin
lies bored & useless under tired
chairs --- of which there is one fewer.
somehow time
[&the loss of you]
gently murdered the
"make yourself at
home" that was before.
No comments:
Post a Comment