The Morning After
My teeth peek out, prepared for laughter
But cigarette ashes dust the floor
Just where they’d rested
The night before
Tracing your footprints through the door
I rolled in them and burned myself
Then hid the scars upon a shelf
Where I don’t have to nurse them.
You sprinkled your remnants down the street
Sticking to my feet
A leaf flutters by my nose, pirouetting upon its papery toes
It looked so happy, spinning there
Drifting in the crisp fall air
It made me wish for something, for what I’m not quite sure
I’m not certain of much anymore.
I followed the leaf, frolicking behind
Though I’m not really the frolicking kind
The air was lead, the wind was cold
The trees sparkled with fool’s gold, so I retreated
To where memories are contained in photographs
And twin-yolked eggs
Are cracked in half
Lipstick marks in blood red streaks
Remaining there for those two weeks, our conversation piece
Sheets still tangled on the floor, implements of our holy war
And carelessly left behind.
Strands of your hair nesting on my pillowcase
Cradling my salty face, die cast in the shadow.
