as you wash the breeding dishes i stand
at the foot of our bed. the floor of laundry
stares back at me. we’ve gathered the dust
of our parents: a closet filled with the untidy
wreckage of what must have been an earthquake
cat litter unopened nightstand drawers and the
lighters hid from each other for the cigarette
breaks we never talk about taking.
(cliche and some work that needs to be done. satisfied with it for a first draft)
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