“Clutter” by Maria Fusco.

box of matches

Striking you five times, only to collect brittle crumbs, evidence of your failure.

blue eyeliner

I told James once that I knew blue eyeshadow didn’t suit me but that it was a thing, a reminder to myself that my face can hold the ugly.

plastic lid of a 2 litre bottle of still water

I’m worried about scraping my tongue when I lick the last drops out of you. You hold more saliva than might be expected.

wireless keyboard

Thin enough to trust, you rattle under pressure, so I must seat you upon something a little more comfortable.

air freshener

Sitting on their guest toilet I attempt to avoid your evil gasp, your wretched saccharin exhalation. I don’t dare redirect you.

pink Post-It Note

Layering, you settle one to the other as petals, as regular curled-up blooms, without decay.