Cold Coffee Chronicles

Suddenly, my friends

Have become ephemeral 

As the flowers of late 

March. 

Our home was built

On top of each other.

The sex sounds that crept

Through the cardboard walls

Like little glimmers of light

Are muted. 

We stand in different leaky

Homes that keep us

From bleeding into one another. 

I have never felt so solitary

As now. 

I have never missed the clumps

Of hair pasted to the shower

Stall until I saw hygiene. 

The sweat of a sofa stained

By pizza sauce and beer

Never meant stability

Until I rented a clean one. 

My bedroom is adorned

With white paint and my

Step grandma’s picture.