i have completely erased
your footprints in my room,
replacing them with the ash
that now circulates in this space
i can only call my own. memories,
from the ash of one they arise,
to the ash of another they fall,
the soil is overturned, exposing
the fresh life within old earth.
your scent seeps into my
bloodstream, infusing into sunken-
in memories now remembered in
sepia. its touch clings to my
cold hands, the air-con hums again
at 23 degrees, the bed is ever too
high, the curtains are drawn once more,
the scent of sweat mixes in a ironic
concoction of deja vu and hopefulness —
i feel your heartbeat through that
semblance of a link through the heated
cloth on my skin. i breathe and i gulp
in senseless amounts of the fresh air,
new ash; it clings to my throat,
clings to my body,
clings onto my heartstrings
and never to let go.
