The Three

Three things.
A crass poster of craven whispers of kisses,
A derelict plastic cup with a hole in it
And a half a pencil, eaten away at the butt.

All closing their deals with another opening...
The cracked ceiling.
On the wall, soggy and dripping with moist
My kisses could never deliver.
On the floor, overflowing from the one end
That never knew water before.
On the desk, washed clean...
Still writing...if only but better.