Flies

What is it that
draws you to leave
these crisp
silhouettes
above my bed?

Was it loneliness
that made you
a part
of that dry puddle?

Or perhaps the
bright pop and flash
of a light bulb
dying?



It’s none of my business, really.
After all, I
haven’t an excuse for all my staring
blankly at a white ceiling.
And yet I’m drawn to it,
so humor me.
It’s no great thing to make
exceptions
for a kindred spirit.