The dining table seems bigger these days. Despite all my stretching, I've failed to reach your attention in weeks. I've taken to sleeping on the edge of the bed to try to cure the soreness. I'm waiting patiently for the day that I will no longer need to fight over the sheets.
The dining table seems bigger these days, and I can hardly find my place at it. And I'm trying to explain that our gods are not the same, but you're staring at your reflection in the window. I hope you find what you've been praying for.
How did we come to this? It seems I am most easily dismissed when I am finally comfortable. In another life, we lay among the flowers, and the cold of my hands does not bother you.
How did we come to this? It seems I am least approachable when I am able to approach the mirror. In this life, we eat our dinner separately in the same room. It's gone cold, but I pretend there's still warmth worth savoring.
YOU ARE READING
HEAVENLY CORRUPTION
PoesiaThe ramblings of a woman who spent too much time in confession and too little time trying to figure out what exactly she was apologizing for.
