9 pm portrait

a destroyed chocolate cake
biscuits of no revered make

an unmade bed
sheets well-fed

that's how my sunday looks like
when the weekend runs out of pike

When it is dark outside, the windows flaunt reflections of the inside..

Two windows in front of me stand,
framed, silent and bland.

Peeks a tall chimney from one,
two dry branches with no sun.

I see a shelf full of books,
some for 'em cooks;

A little bottle of rye,
around the corner of my eye.

But then it's all me,
two feet next to my tea.