strangers, not home.

i want to be friends with my neighbors.

or-maybe

it's just
their empty glowing kitchen.

reminds me of someone you love
half awake in a hospital.
familiar and faraway
all at once.
wine glasses hang upside down.
a quiet army of clinking smiles and glassy eyes
waiting,
for me.

crowded photographs live on the fridge.
i squint through my reflection
trying not to see shadowed lines.

my cheeks
they seem to sag now.
close the curtains.

imagine my picture there.