Verse by @ren.marlowe

the cold got into the bones of the house i am practicing being the kind of quiet you can stand the river takes what it is offered we drank the cheap thing and called it a feast

the bus came and i did not get on i buried the argument in the yard i keep the receipts of everything i felt the cold got into the bones of the house

you never asked and i never stopped answering i put my grief in a drawer with the batteries i am the last one at the party fixing the lights the bus came and i did not get on

i buried the argument in the yard my hands still know your kitchen your laugh survives in the hallway i still set the table for the ghost of us

my mother taught me how to fold a grudge the dog still waits by the door at six the floorboards keep the score my hands still know your kitchen