Is this reek of boredom or
the stink of backed-up dishes
awaiting a pang of conscience?
The sink has no claim on it more
than a bucket & mop in need
of a soiled floor. I see them daily
aware it may get out of hand
but I too am victim.
A year’s delusion is the
consequence of keeping things
unchanged – it had to be this
or my ashamed admission.
‘Tho assuaged in pristine
continuity it pays a leery
bonus in despair. Absence
merely maketh hearts grow
heavier.
Now if I did admit you’re gone
would anything have changed?
© 17 February 2010, I. D. Carswell
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