Sleep's dark curtain fell, suddenly.
Thick velvet drapes, from pure unconscious slumber
to confused, uncertain awareness.
Clear in obscurity,
blurred, hazy, and short sighted
when we are foolish enough to allow our minds to consider
such matters as night and day
and all else in between.
The sound of you putting away dishes in the kitchen
was what prompted the fluttering of naked eyelashes
Blue iris'; filtering the dim light in a room
too cluttered, she had to leave
But by the time I stumbled into the kitchen
there was nothing left of you for me to hold onto
Even the air--none of it spoke of you
There were no whispers scattered,
not even in the furthest darkest corners.
The sound of you cleaning up and clearing out
lifed up the curtains.
The final act.
And the kitchen--
it was still dirty.