You sit there on your patterned couch
With the people you love enough to make
A steamy cup of coffee that you bought
And you poured for them.
I see your socks but not your face and
I see the little people in your polished picture frames
Illuminated by the subtle glow of your
Chandelier.
I can\'t see your face but I can see the smiles of
The little people laughing to the sound of
Happiness from the moment in which
The photo was taken.
I miss your face
So much so
That I carve your features into my ceiling
And into trees and canvases.
I don’t recognize rainy afternoons
Or warm nights by the fire
Or my own body without you,
Touching it.
I often look at your patterned couch
In the mornings when
It is glowing with the glare of your
Crystallised chandelier slowly swaying
On your ceiling.
The young people in your photographs
Smiling
The old people
Stately
Your family has been travelling
Lately
You never see them.
I see you being lonely,
Sitting on your ugly patterned couch,
Crying for your loved ones,
Aching for some comfort
Because your patterned couch
Is worn out and dying.
You relate to your patterned couch.