By John Grey

I sing in your shower.

Hopelessly out of tune.

I eat at your table.

The food is not great 

but edible.

On a par 

with my mother’s cooking.

The conversation is varied.

Small talk,

larger issues,

then back to small talk again.

The sex is admirable

because it’s so long

since we’ve had 

anything to compare it to.

And the sleep is sound

despite your operatic snores.

In other words,

I’ve moved into your place.

My observations

came too.

Copyright© 2021 by John Grey

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