Conversation With A Ceiling
Asking the galaxy, “Does he want me?”
I glare up at the desolate sky above–
or is it just me,
casually making conversation with the blank ceiling in my bathroom again?
It then responds with,
wrinkled fingertips
in lukewarm water.
Flat buzz of a fan,
no revelation.
Brewing desire,
a clueless boy,
and my yearning soul.
