Sunday, February 21, 2010


Coffee pot sits full and black
on a messy marble counter
I think I'll let it stay; untouched
I'll make it miss you.

You are somber
and I am the black hole into which you fall
I miss you too.

Is this what it feels like to be on our own?

Do you look out the window?
Do you strum your guitar?
Which tears that fall are mine?

What is this clutter? What is this frenzy?
What is this madness?
Where do I go?

And it's quiet
besides the bubbling coffee
and the words on repeat:

I love you.

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