home: worn void

I procrastinate leaving that doesn’t feel like going home

to come back won’t bring being and there might not even be imprint of her there

vacant looking at the ceiling, squint my eyes to see as she then, crying to know her thoughts her body

I try to hug myself as she, find her memory in soft spaces that are only indents impressed

packing with hands I wonder if are hers, home my body of her making



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