Teacups

The dust in this fridge and

the lack of eggs on shelves,

of sunlight through window blinds,

of whiteness on bathroom tiles.

Wisps of hairs on stairs.

I do not recognize

the color nor the shape of these curls. 

The blankets on your bed.

crumpled and creased

permeated by the

sweaty smell of your sleep.

Socks in corners.

Socks on your floor.

‘Please buy a wardrobe.

Like normal people.’

We decided not to fight about trivial matters

And so we wake up silently.

Where are you?

I ask and

you stare at my forehead

'I came unprepared' you say

Please, tell me

you care.

I convince myself you cannot express this,

There must lie a truth

behind the signs. 

There must be more under this

meaningless surface.

The weak grip 

of our hearts and hands.

I try to love your voice and

the sound of your words.

The way you move.

I want to bend your back,

rearrange your eyebrows and

your furniture.

I want to decide on what you eat.

You will not let me

drive your car when it’s dark.

I sing hoarsely to traffic lights

on the way home.

My eyes adjust to kitchen lamps

the cups of the tea we drank.

Cannot fill up this dishwasher.

I rinse the signs of our togetherness

with water.