it is the good morning that is never said
  
and the dying dreams
         suspended by immovable,
                         unbreakable threads
that hang stagnant in the air.
I see these in your eyes,
              these wisps of smoke
from a life you wish youʼd had.

Do you love me? I see that you donʼt
                                         love each other,
and I hear it in the
           tarnished silvery sighs every morning
when you see
last nightʼs dinner
still sitting on the counter, half-eaten
each expecting the other to clean it up.

I know youʼd be happier apart, if it werenʼt for me
and money
and the house
and the cars
and the list of things you used to love.


it is the good night I know youʼre waiting to hear.