SMALL WINDOWS

The newspapers sit scattered
across the coffee table,
the empty ashtray, now used
for decoration, we did quit
some time ago,

now the clouds of doubt
consume us, questions we
ignore, afraid to face,

we are in our comfort,
though our hands seek
warmth from a cold
we have slowly created,

both of us crawling to an end,
eventually we will get, the day
we look into each other's eyes,

until then I will continue to look
out of our small window, waiting for
the Sun to peek through the clouds.