Solitude

Every month my roommate volunteers to pay the full rent, washes my hair, cuts my nails cooks our food provides My roommate dresses and undresses my body, wears my perfume, listens to my bowels, preempts my moods, looks into my mirror, deep into my eyes – smiles sighs

In the room without walls void where whispers hold their breath solitude unfurls like a second skin crumbles fast in the oven how does the quiet think? perhaps it dreams of speech one that won't be erased by the click of the door the table counts solitude one chair after another a glass stands alone liquid glass of a clear morning