During the day
Our works save us from each other.

Television blares me out of your mind.
I chop vegetables. I peel away your presence.

We sleep, far away
right next to each other
Recalling memories
of fog-filled unreal times
when my prince had your face.
Me, your princess
dressed in joy.

And we sang the song of love…

How did the the many instruments of our song
begin to fuse into a monotone?

And the words that spoke of love

learn to speak a different language?
And when did my fabulous white gown
shred into a fog so dense?

Questions like these
paint our walls now.
Where a very present white
uncolours itself.