Monday, July 18, 2016

Who Cares

Who cares if there are
other worlds, the households
of other families. I
fall back onto
the sofa of my life,
I sleep on the bed of my life
and chose my breakfast
from the refrigerator of my life.
Yet, even here
are things
unearthly strange.
She hands him the glass.
Their fingers, both flesh,
barely touch. She
grants him her face
as they stand facing each
across the counter. Both bodies


Post a Comment

<< Home