my love is home
i know she's home because
there are cups full of cold tea
all around, and on the edge of
the bathtub stands her violet
candle, still soft from the fire,
and there are blood drops on
the wall, and if i'm quiet i can
hear the music playing from
the study, classical, with lots
of piano, and there is an
opened book on the couch,
she's halfway through, and
there's more blood in the bed,
and on the floor, and on the
windows, and her favorite
yogurt jar is still outside of the
fridge, next to the bowl she
used, and her shoes are neatly
put underneath her coat, which
she always hangs on the very
same spot in the bedroom, and
her body is not even very far
from there, cold on the wooden
floor, eyes wide open, a
beautiful dark brown.
YOU ARE READING
until I'm empty: short poems
PoetryOriginal short poems. Just for fun, not to be taken too seriously. Criticism is welcome.
