A car drives by
Soon its sound is gone
The kitchen tap drips
I wait for the next drop
My lead scratches the paper
I cannot keep it quiet
Yet I may soon silence it completely
My thoughts buzz
That is you in my subconscious
The walls are free of wallpaper
Instead they are adorned
With copies of impressionist masters
Portraits in imitation gilt frames
There are electric candle-lights
To illuminate the Roman numerals
