We are the people of tiny spaces.

We are the people of tiny spaces.

Of loft beds.

Of antique lamp light reading leather bond

books of “100 best poems”

we’ve read before.

Of reading Wordsworth and feeling eternal.

Of arguing ourselves wielding

ball point pens in the margins.

Of coffee cup mist licking our chins.

Of window sills in the morning.

Of lumpy pillow corners.

Of pauses.

Of silences.

Of the people who savor the breath

between people’s words.

Of tiny spaces.