in your hand-me-down furnished,
toy-strewn living room.
Tea on the stove,
pipe smoke residue in the
cushions,
baby sleeping in the next room
with bare feet.
No need for bright lights,
we know each others faces.
I can see your silly grin in your
voice.
We rhetoricize the future
and the world outside
this dark womb.
Lying on this couch, across from
you,
I’m not sure anything else
exists.
I am discovering myself in your
family room.
No comments:
Post a Comment