21. these walls

if these walls could talk,
I believe they'd have difficulty deciding whether to
yell or sob -
the compromise would come out in echos
like a cat in heat on a sweaty night -
a sound born from fear of passion,

these walls would resonate at that frequency,
pulsing like a chest
trying to hold back from heaving,
until the drywall would begin to crumble,
and the ceiling would split as spiders
crawled out of the cracks -


coffee and chicory
coffee and cardamom
coffee and no, no cream

, thanks,

coffee and cigarettes
coffee and could you please refrain from falling in love again
coffee and something dirty
coffee and no, no sugar

, thanks,

and this, and this, and you are the taste lingering in the back of my throat
when I remember that the world is a bitter place and
the simple things I thought were the paths to
happiness
have been convoluted and corrupted and
aged, age, age brings them a new definition
and none of this is necessarily
a bad thing -
but you and I, we were a bad thing, and
age, age, age made us a bad thing

see, if these walls could talk,
they would probably
say nothing
at all
because it so, so,
so much easier that way.