The walls are too white
and seamed careless.
As the window awoke
and shed light in streams, blinded
on tangled bed sheets
and lazy
strewn pillows
the floor boards creaked, “good morning”
and I replied, “good afternoon”.
Light lingers in the corners,
hiding where it
rarely falls
when two walls meet.
I sigh in the absence of sound,
and it echoes with
bare decorum.
There is no space under the bed
for clothes to hide
or secrets to be kept
so they sleep between
the sheets between us.
