Saturation

The thread I bought is much too bright,

it glows beneath the kitchen light.

The hole in my sleeve is jagged and wide,

with nowhere left for the heat to hide.

I spilled my cup upon the floor,

right beside the closet door.

The rug is a deep and plum-dark shade,

where every stain begins to fade.

The coffee sank without a trace,

lost inside that wooly space.

On the counter, a fruit is bruised and dark,

a maroon skin leaving a quiet mark.