So shall I howl?
Would it break the mood that clings to us enshrouding?
Do you doubt it?
As always you encompass that which smothers hope.
Shall I howl?
I ask again - will answers be forthcoming?
Will we speak?
Of course we won't - silence claims its victory.
The tea cup warm and heavy, beside a glinting spoon.
The marmalade jar stuck to the saucer
whilst a fly sneaks toward it from the sunlit window.
You never remember to close the insect screen,
and why can't you keep your mouth closed when you chew?
Do you hate me sometimes as much as I hate you?
