dust constantly collected
on the windowsills
and in the corners
of the room, but
i liked that because
i always knew where to find it.
a firm
mattress was my muse,
pulling words like taffy
pulling poetry that left
a sweetness on my tongue
and a purpose almost as
defined,
as solid, as sturdy
as the walls.
this was home home until
i grew too big and my limbs
tore down the frame.
all that remains:
my body, full of splinters
and a yearning
for the way
the sleepy sun shone
through the windows.
Coventry // a.s.m