Off The Edge

I sat on the edge
of the world
my feet dangling 
an inch above the hard wood
and looked out your window.
Waited for the squeak of springs
that would come
when you took the place next to me
but you didn't 
and the squeak
came from a chair on the horizon.
I had been wanting you 
to fill me deliciously
and ease me into ripe silence,
but suddenly I found myself
wishing I was in a Laundromat
where the washers 
hypnotizing, rhythmic singing
drowned out all thought 
and obese women in house-dresses
looked at me with scowls
like I was the reason for their constipation,
like the world would be
a better place
without me sitting on the edge.