You are the stream of dust sparkling against the asphalt in 30 degree heat, You are the cobwebs that rebuild each night in the corner of my window sill. You are the tickle in my throat when I try to sneeze,
As I wait,
Half expecting you to choke.
When I am not even the other half, But less,
And maybe was even never enough.
As I am but space between each of your fingers,
Coffee stains on the counter,
Loose change that jangles when you walk,
Takeaway receipts stuck to brown paper bags.
I can never be torn away.
I only exist at night,