I feel bored at your place,
Even though I’m only there on the internet.
It’s filled with light, a well-proportioned space,
And yet,
I couldn’t stand anything so bland,
Where are your books?
I don’t care for your designer taps, all the rage,
You seem to forget,
That not everything is about clean, bright looks,
It’s no good muttering, about decluttering,
I want lots of stuff, second hand,
I want to covet some old, artistic find,
To remind me I’m a human, with a mind,
Not some animal, satisfied with a clean cage.
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