He smelt like Doritos
and it was nine in the morning.
I wanted to leave just as
much as I wanted a hot cup of coffee.
There were lip prints on the mouths of the people in the painting.
I still wonder who was that
lonely to kiss them.
Did they feel like the acrylic texture was puckering back at them?
He was a junky for anything colourful.
His cat hid in the
contours of the drab darkness, that
spotted his kaleidoscope room, probably looking for something still.
The motion in the patterns was enough to make me sick.
Just thinking about it now gets me sick.
His ears were shaped like mismatched potato chips,
And he wasn't the most enthused guy I'd ever met.