The Shadows

Who are they that lurk in corners, drape over dressers,
curl in to the crevices of drawers and cupboards, coating
hairgrips and shoes. They peel like laminate from wallpaper,

imprinted with spiralling florals, sad bunches of grapes,
diced pears. Unseen, they creep closer in late hours, cowering
from the harsh draw of curtains, curling from bullish sunlight,

pushing like serpents through piping, dripping like black ink
from radiators, they seep through valves, these shadows
a question mark curved across irises, a brushstroke on lips.