Lys1521

before this ugly, flowered couch bobbed down the river and came to rest where water lapped semen from its edge, someone slept here unalone. the stains in the cloth spell promises, "my body goes here, yours belongs there," the cigarette burns on the armrests sketch stories of every so-late-it's-early night. the couch now sleeps with the water and the lilies and the riverbank, the fish now suckle waterlogged cigarettes on flowered, moonless nights. and this sink, before they ripped the kitchen out, held his dishes- food-caked, abandoned dishes broken in anger against her shoulders and her forehead and her screaming, ugly face. this sink