The night in its limitless darkness
a black hole engulfing all thoughts
The picture of James Dean on the table,
apparently, a symbol for flagrant rebellion

The clothes yet to be ironed
yet to be washed
scattered on the floor,
that we walk on
the rug eaten by many winters

The arena for some poetry
Wordsworth and his daffodils,
Shakespeare and his Adonis,
Sidney’s Astrophel, and his Stella,
apparently, sources of inspiration

The smoke from the last drag of a cigarette end
An air of solitude
I cough, trying to focus on romantic thoughts
Write Woman!
as a fly licks the sandwich leftovers