grey dust from the wooden table
coats his sleeve. he wipes
it on his trousers
barely aware of it.
he is in the midst
of making a point to her
by his never ending tirade.
opaque dust depicts
their non-existing relationship.
irritating screeching sound
gets to her fragile nerves.
dry old flowers enhances
the drab way their life is going.
his droning voice makes her sleepy.
closing herself with open eyes,
she feels a pang for lost love.
only for a moment.
she fingers her name
on the thick dust
setting herself free-
to touch the untamed cinder
of sun streaks scattered on the dusty floor.
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