Our gaze travels the length and width of
the entire complex, searching for objects, for
furnishings that house us.

Where do we feel most at home?
In the elegant folds of cream curtains?
The ornate details of a ravishing glass lampshade?

No, we decide. I find myself swept
under the tattered, shame-woven rug,
you in the distorted reflections

of that cracked, unhung mirror.

David Hanlin is a poet from Cardiff, Wales. You can follow him on twitter: @davidhanlon13 and Instagram: @welshpoetd.