clearing out the truths in my closet
i find another.
amidst the chaos and the calm,
there drapes the dark woollen coat.
persistently promising to always be in vogue.
its length smiles at my older self
its warmth laughs at my latter days
its style larks at the former self
its size beams in my early age
telling me its elegance is grasped
at a certain stage.
yet we are sheared
from the same black sheep.
spun from the same yarn.
cut from the same cloth.
the receipt kisses the grey
laminated wooden floors.
peeling the paper gently it reads
The Black Sheep Café
and my eyes envision the coffee
darker than my caffeine tears
and lighter than my milky fears
sweet sucrose stirs heat into a mug
and all lost boys and girls
find their way there
only for them to sit and stare
absorbing the fabrications
we built in our rented realm
taking pictures of our dreams
and cheating prose as poetry.
baa baa black sheep, your wool is now a heap? no world. no world. it’s not yours to keep.