Quietness

There was a time when I used to spend lonely weekends at home, solely without friends and largely without family. I used to be home alone with my legs crossed over a table, leaning on a chair, smoking; occasionally getting up to go to the kitchen in search of some cheese and coffee. At other times walking around in an empty apartment with a long forgotten book of poems in my hand, sometimes reading out loud as if to an expected audience. As noon came, I ate lonely meals trailed by a warm bath with green and blue hand-felted soap. And when I used to dry my hair and scent my body I always felt heavy for by then I was full of you.