frosted
white of winter leaves
silence in the kitchen
where cluttered there with dishes
on the floor

survivors
of an evening past
how slow our recognition
of places held
before
the coffee spilt

splattered
to the ashes –
crystal cigarettes
are careful in their telling
of our lies

maybe
when the sun is poured
new across the vinyl –
we’ll wander here
to pick the pieces up

forgotten how it hurt
curses now gone colder –
tears have dried
beneath
the habit’s stain

. . .