AI_generated vocals

Your key’s beside the salt;
I let the phone ring out.
Barefoot, I spin past the fridge,
Turn our song up till the teaspoons shake—
Take the whole floor now you’re gone.

Your key’s beside the salt;
The blue cup’s on the draining board, a crescent chipped beside the handle; I turn it toward the wall and put the kettle on.
Your taxi paints the ceiling yellow, then the light slides down the cupboards; outside, you pull your collar up and check your coat.
There’s half a piece of toast gone cold, the butter stiff around the knife; I scrape the black crumbs off your plate into my hand.
You left the window open just an inch; the shopping list keeps lifting at the corner, milk and bread beneath your crooked little star.
I reach to shut the kitchen door, but your red scarf is on the hook; its wool catches my sleeve and holds me there.
The kettle clicks; I take two teaspoons from the drawer, then lay one back between the forks, careful not to let it ring.
Downstairs, a car door closes; I pour water through the coffee, watch it darken, leave your key beside the salt and drink mine standing up.

"Your taxi"
by Stefan Kartenberg

2026 - Licensed under
Creative Commons
Attribution Noncommercial (4.0)

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