Kitchen Bloom

Under the sink, where pipes run cold,

and darkness makes the stories told

of neglect, a damp and slow

unfurling where the shadows grow.

I bent low, a sudden quest,

for cleaner, something for the mess.

And there it was, a soft, green stain,

a velvet patch, fed by the rain

that seeped from somewhere, old and slow.

A small, dark flower, starting to show.

The particleboard, it gave a sigh,

a faint, sweet smell, as if to cry.

This quiet rot, this gentle hold,

a story in the damp unfolds.

It spreads so silent, soft, and deep,

while promises we failed to keep

are mirrored in its fuzzy face.

A creeping truth in this small place.