Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Your coffee’s still on the nightstand. It’s been days since you’ve gone. Since you slept the night twice and we did up the days, philosophizing life over hot dogs and cards games. We don’t live high society. Too often, we shirk responsibility. We travel and talk of travel, one no more than the neighbor.

The coffee cup’s half full; you never bottom up. It marbles when I nudge the spoon, your creamer settling heavy on the ceramic floor. The ring inside the cup evolves with each evening. It’s grown and adapted, changed; I’ll need to soak it away for days. As if soapy-watered days can erase.

The nightstand’s not even mine. Nor the bed, the blankets, the coffee cup. I stay for a while to turn my wheels and find solid ground, quick kicking up dust. But I haven’t planted. I move, you move. We travel and talk of travel, nomadic. We leave behind rings on the coffee cup and bits of us hanging in the air.

Advertisements