There are words
All over the floor,

A dustpan and brush,

Swollen pauses,

And a silent,
Two person queue
For the bathroom.

We let each other talk
Between the barrage of sighs,

Confused monologues crackling
Like refrigerated bonfires,

Explanations rattling
Like loose roofs on a train –

Then nothing
But the whistle
Of the wild winds outside
And the gentle rumble of stomachs.

Your food is in my freezer,
Your shoes are in my hallway

And you’re getting up to go.

The door closes,
And I stare out at nothing
Till there’s nothing left to fear,

Till the something I felt
In the blink of an eye

Is forgotten
Like most things
Once cherished.

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