divorce kitchen

My arms

are never long enough

to reach you.

Light breaks down the kitchen window

and sets us screaming

to our coffee,

shaking the floor boards of our house.

Your eyes

are never soft enough

to prove you love me;

smiles take on hard, jagged edges

and hands in bed are rough.

"The children never visit anymore.

Why is that?"---

As we eye each other

loathingly

over the rims of smokey mugs.