I live with a stranger,
A dull woman without conversation
In mind,
Who moves about the house
In sterile silence
And never disturbs the pillows.
She keeps smiles in makeup boxes,
For she complains
Of their bitter taste
On her lips.
Quiet, cringing sprite,
Her swollen cheeks
And oval shoulders hitched
In stiff,
Compliant
Surrender,
Yet she has the nastiest habit
Of staring.