Friday, June 21, 2019

You Stopped Asking

I finally figured out what I should have done
What I did wrong, what you wanted me to do

The colors were less painfully chromatic
when a fine layer of dust had settled on them

I returned to work
No one had noticed I was gone

The icy fluorescent tubes washed everything
A faint flicker of painful blue

I swiveled my neck to see you crumpled in the corner
Just your clothes with nothing inside them

Box upon box of c-fold paper towels
Standardized size for most manual dispensers

You stopped telling me and I stopped asking
I guess you were tired of all my wrong guesses

The chilly whistle of the H-VAC system
The whining of pipes, hair clogging the vents

I dreamed the walls shook, the floor shuddered
I dreamed it was January instead of Summer

The hand truck with a broken wheel
The elevator stuck between floors

I dreamed about breaking into your house
And unbuckling my belt and kissing you

with as much tenderness as I was still
able to  muster

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