i'll lead you in, we're hand in hand.
it's morning, dust floating in the sun beams
(it's chasing who had just passed before us).
on the floor, newspapers scattered,
guitar picks laden on coasters freeze;
rough pillows will idle limply in the folds of a green couch.
a symphony of coffee and fresh dew
will linger, harmonizing with
the sighs from the kitchen.
i'll tell you
this is where i grew
to know how to lose who i love;
this is why i kiss lips that aren't mine;
this, my place; my haven; my arch enemy;
my taste of freedom and a pang of resentment;
a series of dissonances and a collection of complements,
hangs freely in a void of the past