the saddest part
about moving
is how the paint behind
your picture frame
didn’t fade from the
sun like the rest
of the room did;
it still tells of
bright orange and
the time we laid
on the floor,
letting the smell
of wet paint
tickle our noses
and make our heads
feel fuzzy,
while we laughed about
how nice it would be
to have windows with
screens for a change.
though, secretly,
i’d miss those ladybugs
that crawled
on the ceiling
and watched us
while we slept,
while we made love,
while we danced,
and didn’t care
whether or not
we looked like fools,
so long as they
could eat the aphids
and the dust.
