i am the grapefruit in your lungs,
the nipple that fell from your breast on thanskgiving,
the discarded cigarette butts in your attic
and the dusted fingerprints covering your walls.
i am small hairs on your pillowcases,
waking you with a knife at your throat before the sun evenrises.

i am nameless, sitting next to you on the living room sofa,
stretching out my arms and legs,
making myself at home,
to watch the workings of gravity.