Читать книгу dampness - Jasen Sousa - Страница 5

A bed of empty inferior.

A box of almost empty cereal

littered with bottomless dust.

Delicate crunches

are not as loud

as a ceiling

that sleeps on top of me

with the weighted pressure

of those who have knocked

on my bedroom door once

and never returned.

A half-made bed.

A half piece of toast

covered with nothing,

but artificial truth.

I share an empty coffee cup

with the woman

who has yet to tell me good morning.

I still kiss her goodbye,

wish her a good day,

and tell her that I will see her soon.