You came too late to be part of the furniture.
I am ground, the solid base where the rest met
before you came. The one before you failed
to stick, but I, the gecko’s Velcro paw pads
am underneath grazing your itching feet,
seeing your eyes on the mirror all the while,
many hours behind. Stop. It is not okay.
The chairs sit there, the sideboard's arms
are open but they will close. And you?
You will be packed up. Another boat is waiting
to take you back to where you fled.
Your fluid return. Ineffectual you.
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