Guest Room

There's a stranger
in my house. 
She takes a seat at an 
invisible chair and 
stares me down. 
"You're lonely," she says, 
twirling a piece of hair around her 
hazy fingers. 
Smoke clouds around her collarbone 
and slips past me like 
acceptance. 
"How did you know?" I ask, 
then shake my head. 
It's obvious. 
By the way I stare
for a second too long out
the windows, by the way
I leave little scraps 
of paper strewn about 
my bedroom- notes on my life, reminders, 
a sentence or two that came to me
and seemed poetic. 
She laughs, the stranger
in my house. She laughs
as if this is all a 
great and fascinating joke. 
"I'm here to stay," she says. 
"I'd like the guest room 
with an extra chair inside."
She twinkles, knowing that I'll do 
anything for her, my lovely,
lonely self. 
"I'm expecting a guest or two."