It
Covers everything,
Everything in sight.
My black shelves,
My ruddy windows,
My oil pastels.
Like a gross coffee fart,
Leaving traces behind
On these objects from which we cannot part.
Just the same, my great grandma’s suave
pin cushion, my mother’s crushed wedding album,
My dildo, once a neon pink, now, a muted mauve
It covers
These objects in a foreskin, a mummy’s wrap.
It hovers
As dead skin flakes and bad hair days
Stay to remind us that
During our stay here on earth,
We can never leave
Or willingly stay.
It only takes
One breath,
One swoop of the palm,
To go away.
