Because If Words Like Love I Am Doing Dishes

Language is what it infers, not what it means
while the cats let themselves in and out the front door
because they infer knobs. Four feet on the ground covering
fur and purr
snarl and whisker
When snarl at you, not purr,
Infer that I have turned from Blue to
Yellow and green divided
When divided from you infer
The whisker will come, but you will never discover
Light what age has done to me.
That fur, snowy and colorless has paved life.
Always, we are placing dishes on a counter and cleaning them like paws
Always the chaos of papers and party favors
Giving time the inference of meaning
That the dead are not whispering, the small are not
Four footed and among us licking the ground, that
We being upright and unrooted soar into participle and modifier
Without permanence. This gray one upon the back of my chair, the white one circling pink, a tent ring of anticipation, but being upright, my time is dishes, cyphers, holding place not hands in a body capable if ignorance and good
At it, slinking past the hue of azure and into cobalt as if that
Was what is was all about