I wonder what you think about when you’re all alone
What are the instincts? 
I want to know the things you do
Only when there is nobody else in the room 
and it is a hot afternoon 
or a cool lonely night

What are your routines for the rain and other obscurities?
Do you watch the water serpentine or light a candle?
Tell your deepest thoughts 
to pen on paper 
or put a record on 
let the music carry away the bad thoughts?

Is it movie night in your living room 
on your stained market couch?

Maybe it’s not that romantic and I give you too much credit;
You don’t see the beautiful things that I do, I know.

You probably think to do something about your laundry chair
And never get around to making your house a home

another poem?