Freshly soaped shoulders
are lapping up blue paint
as the refrigerator hisses
and lungs gently deflate.
Webs and spindled legs
are unraveling in the sink
and a spoon of heavy pears
is clinging to your drink.
The faucet's dripping mold
but your skull- it feels at ease,
your mouth is slightly open
and it's letting in a breeze.
Your fingers kiss the kettle,
caressing lustrous metal,
and it's cold inside this home
but the halls are yours roam.