missing: presumed poet

missing: presumed poet

toothed toast edges remain,

cooled coffee

has assembled serene pools in the sink

each reflects a ceiling

it is though he may return

to this small, awkward orbit –

our jupiter

the door is unlocked

days of wet meat piled

in a baby pink cat bowl

no attempt

to make curtains

meet in the middle

his mobile phone

dies gradually on the sofa arm,

haste has made

an abandoned overhang

the rooms

are bunched tight with feelings,

layered like dirt

waiting for the hot mouth

of the sunday hoover

he hasn’t taken a coat

and his slippers are missing

he is out there…

flattening out words,

that may make the shapes

of hopeful and bold

clutching twilight

in keen fingers

desperate for stardust