roya movafegh

Homeless

Cold rain pounds upon the street
Vagrant emotions huddle in storefront doorways
Spent desire floats down the curbside stream
and disappears into the sewer grate
The gray mists of a stagnant dawn
blend aimlessly into the tear stained concrete

I sold my trench coat for cigarettes
traded my shoes for coffee
Black ink stains my toes
from the newspaper stuffed in my socks
I haven’t washed in days and misery covers my body
like the dirt and grime of the street
The empty alley smells like a dead body
I take a deep breath
and fill my lungs with heartache
I wear lonely like a sweater

My pockets are empty
except for one torn and tattered piece of paper
An old love poem that I wrote
The one where I declared
that you were my home

Norman Cristofoli
labouroflovemagazine.com