Carmen is playing the piano above my right ear.
Reminds me of that night
But the sofa’s colder without your heat.
Lighting’s the same:
Big one, chandelier and a reading lamp
Mugs of tea steaming
Kind of like before.
I’m staring at the spot you don’t fill
In front of the TV, left of the tea, just above me
We’d talked of tacos, films, jobs, our desires and
definitely tea
Now it’s only oceans and uncertainty.
Back then you’d liked it.
The tea, me,
The way we’d met under that stooping tree
But there’s a stain on the sofa now and I’m trying to get it out
It’s dark among the beige and I seem to be the only one to see it.
I’m scrubbing and scrubbing
Scrubbing and rubbing and dabbing
Fruitless — I’ll stop.
I’m staring at the spot you don’t fill
You haven’t filled it for a while
The stain doesn’t get smaller
I’ll keep scrubbing,
I’ll keep scrubbing.
