Dicatomy

 

 

Lady of the House

Grief sits in my chest,

lounging on a chair.

She has made herself

comfortable, sipping

peppermint tea…

staring at old photographs

and locking the door at

the end of the day,

night after night.

Not a worry in the world,

after all, she doesn’t need to

pay rent.  She OWNS this house.

My lips have learned to love your tongue

Who takes care of the caretaker?