My New Old Mourning Routine
There are tears mixed
into the pancake batter
sun is still obfuscated
by the window shades
without sunshine, I still
wind up a morning person
Tobacco clings to me,
where your scent would be
sewn with many memories
into the mesh of myself
a premature family crest,
stained and worn
The new day shows
only one outcome remains
the eggs are runny,
my nose sniffles into an arid oasis
no sunny side seems
to show up these days
I wake up to an empty pillow,
your space hollow through
but I still cannot but help myself
from making breakfast for two.
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