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neth jones Feb 27
a twisted stomach
chemical nervousness
this city heave     dawning
anti haiki
caitlan Dec 2023
i see him off.
i shut the door.
i climb back into bed.

toes in lasting body heat.
covers o'er my head.

bleary eyes on yellowed screen
til warmth's faded away.

i check the time
and heave a sigh.
it's time to start the day.
Humble Poet Dec 2023
It has been three Tuesdays
since I lost you.
I will never forget seeing you,
lying there.

Our regular coffee shop,
at the regular time.
For the second week in a row,
I ordered both of our drinks.

It has been four episodes
of that show you like,
since I lost you.
Most of the things
on the DVR was yours.

It has been five paydays
since I lost you.
I roamed the store looking
for something that doesn't
remind me of you.
I bought the peanut butter you like.

Thanksgiving at my parents was nice
but not one person mentioned you.
I canceled Christmas with your parents.
They said they understood.

A dozen walks in the park
since you're gone.
My friends again,
what is so important
about moving on?
I lost someone I love.
It’s not as if I can stop loving you
and find someone else.

Months of mornings waking up
and not seeing you asleep.
You are more than someone
I wanted to spend my life with.
You were a comfort, a constant, a habit.

It has been one hundred seventy four days, sixteen hours and twenty-one minutes
since I lost you.

To him.

.
Unpolished Ink Feb 2023
Early morning rain
washes any weekend traces
from coffee scented Monday faces
C E Ford Jan 2023
And another morning happens,
awoken by the oxidized groan and stretch
of the lumbering machines
that live in the dirt pile
in front of my apartment

there used to be a farm there,
and there used to be someone
in my bed and darker curtains in my room
but a lot changes in a year

there's still a tiny hole
in the corner of my bathtub
that greets the curve of my foot
every time I step into the shower

i can't tell if it's gotten any
bigger or not
or if the water i hear dripping
is from some other fixture
for me to look at another day

i know my kitchen sink still overflows
not with bubbles
not anymore
but with the dishes i've put off
for almost three days

i wish the men in hard hats
across the street would do the same,
tell themselves that they'll get to that
concrete patch, hole digging, pipe laying,
belt grinding, beam building, horn honking,
sound of trucks backing up
tomorrow
so i could sleep in for once

but they've got a job to do
and sandwiches someone wrapped for them
in aluminum foil
to eat at lunch

and i've got to do the dishes
so i can have a spoon
for my cereal
A lot changes in a year, but some messes stay the same.
its these winter mornings
where any thought
of greeting
the dawning day
with warm thoughts
hopeful exuberance
and a positive outlook
will quickly be silenced
along with
the birdsong of
that overly optimistic alarm
that melody
so carefully selected
to ease consciousness
into a brightened state
of motivation
of joy
despised within seconds
immediately cut short
and resented for
its mindless persistence

the first excuse
a need for another
ten minutes
of warmth and comfort
to prepare
for the day
for life in general
perhaps
the second
a negotiated concession
that there was
no real reason
to get up
early anyway
finally
uncertain whether
in victory
   or defeat
the alarm will be
cancelled completely
along with the rest
of the day
monique ezeh Nov 2022
Twin glasses of orange juice, froth quietly fizzling out
A plate of turkey bacon piled overzealously high


I would cook you French toast every day, if you'd let me.

Fresh croissants from a bakery down the street
Halved strawberries drizzled with honey


I'll sprinkle cinnamon in our coffee, just like my grandmother used to.

I don't know much of love, but I know this:
When the sun breaks through my kitchen window,
I hope you'll be sitting at the table.
Unpolished Ink Sep 2022
Early morning tea
Sleepy hands on a china bowl
Peace in the garden
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