A month here,
a week there.
sometimes facing the door,
sometimes on the floor
there may be a jug of water
or maybe the kitchen is miles away
maybe an east facing window
which streams in the morning sun
or maybe an annoying ventilation
that doesn't filter traffic sound
maybe my people are waiting downstairs
talking and smiling over breakfast
or maybe i am in a studio
with only myself to begin the day with
No wonder,
in the twilight moments before waking up,
It takes me so long to figure out
which bed i am sleeping in.
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