Relative Something

.

beginnings and endings all wrapped into one
wrinkled recipes
wastebaskets as decoration
old shingles, no longer flat
one last morsel of something
hilarious holiday movies
flames
constant vibrations not coming through our ears
sweet moments that have nothing to do with flavor
moon shadows close to midnight
lead pencil with a perfectly intact eraser
phrases no longer in use
the one thing you will never bring home from a grocery store
a houseplant that never grows, yet never dies
landline phones with actual push buttons
nerve endings that tingle
dust that never seems to settle
gusts that eventually do
settle, that is
a list with no actual purpose
prose masquerading as a poem
Saturday mornings home alone
a sigh of monumental proportions
kind words spoken in a sultry tone

.

.