Your Patterned Couch.

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.