i am sitting on a cobalt blue stool
in your placid, dull kitchen
with my head in my hands.
you're gone.

there is a hazy
veil of grey
that covers the late
afternoon sky
and a stagnant silence
stretching to the ceiling.

everything is still;
the empty glass
in front of the
vacant violet vase
and
your ill-fitting
jean jacket
that is lying on the
dark wood.

my stomach crawls around.
my eyes are almost shut.
my legs are numb.
you are not here.

only the clock ticks,

and tocks.