Your melancholy sparkle
from my bathroom sink
catches the corner of my eye
I get off my bead sofa on the sterile white carpet, drag myself towards you, who was
a symbol of potential and promise
that day you sparkled like anything I've seen before.
Not too big, not too small.
Just like the space between our hands when we held them.

But then you slipped under
the not too big,
not too small crack of our front door
and dulled the lustre on your body