Rent

I recognize we’re operating in
the red, trying to keep both
sides of
the bed
occupied.

But your mornings
my night; late
afternoons my
rapid eye
rhapsody

in a house
divided from its doorstep,
visitors sinking into memory
foam debts of these
very floors.

Forgive the
decor, we’re working
ourselves to death for a
purpose,
to be
more
than urchins on
the opposite ends of a

timeless
boulevard.

Tick go the weeks and
clock out the years.

Life ends where we meet and we’re
too tired for tears.

I’ll sleep when I’m dead, so long as
you’re
near.

All of our dues are paid
but God
I
wish you
were here.

Years at
a time at the
drop of each dime,
you fall into bed
just as
I’m leaving it

but I promise, my
darling, I
swear we’re almost

clear.

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