Metaphorical Writing3/1/2013

The dishes haunt me, the book lain open gnawingly beckons amongst a theme of books all needing my eye, the cat stands like a statue and waits, the quarters’ faces spilled out on the table cast a glance at the laundry, and I drink my coffee in slow gulps which swallow all the things standing here to do today.    ©Roseroberta

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