all things that come undone

              [z archiwum ]

And once again the bed is left unmade
With scent of warmth remaining under blanket
No need to hurry, yet once again we’re late.

Pieces of clothing forgotten on the floor
So cold and useless in the morning
No one will wear it any more

Coffee that wasn’t drunk like every morning
And ashtray full of smoky stubs
Smile fading away with empty yawning

And words composed in mind but still unspoken
So many things still left for you to know
Isn’t it funny that although unfinished
Things can already become broken?
***