Leaves Upon My Floor

There are leaves upon my floor. I say 'my' floor, in the same spirit they are my leaves. Unwanted but mine. I wonder of all the ways i could dispose of these leaves, the bin, the window, might even carry them outside. Yet then they would never have been mine. I can't rid myself of 'my' leaves. When I move out, it will never have been my floor. When I breathe out the air would never have been my own. When I die. The leaves stay on my floor. My leaves own the gaze resting upon them.