wtf pwm

spring is pretty but i hate the bugs, hate
the sound of morning being born every morning.
right now i'm feeling a bit low, a bit empty nested.
i find it strange that the dishes don't wash
themselves. are they not embarrassed of their
candidness? their lack of resolutions?
here's what i'm thinking: i want to begin today
again under you. here's why: my apartment
is being overrun by bugs. there are antennas
on my cabinets, in my sock drawer. last week
you left hairs in the shower drain, but now
they've been carried off, stored away under
a crack of tile i'll never look for. that's a metaphor
for your lips. tonight i've stopped opening
my mouth while i eat. watch me turn sand
into more sand. watch me watch me
watch me grill cheese with my eyes closed.