Since you've gone, my clothes have held
the floor in sullen splendour. Empty coffee
cups, a greasy bowl, and raggedy paper
with poems scrawled in half-light corners.
My home is books and silence, and the stains
of smoke curling to the ceiling. A statue
of Kuan Yin holds this motley world to
attention. I sigh often, breathe in notes and
hope that not all will be forgotten. Not here,
or there, or ever, if I could find the twins
to my vanished socks, and the reason behind
reflection. A mirror! A grumbling stomach.
A painting
I'll never finish.
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Submission Name: Lethargic, somewhat
