Verse by @birdie.quinn

we made a home out of almost i saved the last cigarette for a braver night the cold got into the bones of the house i am practicing being the kind of quiet you can stand

i keep apologizing to furniture you can hear the whole town breathing at four am we were young and the light was cheap the lemon tree outlived the marriage

i traded my quiet for a louder kind of quiet i wore your city like a borrowed coat the tape hissed where your voice should be i counted every streetlight home

the sky was the color of an unopened letter you never asked and i never stopped answering i keep the porch light on for nobody i still set the table for the ghost of us

the field went gold then went to sleep the cold got into the bones of the house summer left its fingerprints on the glass you left your jacket on the chair like a promise

the dog still waits by the door at six