(73)
I left no trace of myself in his home
save for a ring on his bedside table
from a cup of coffee he made me
in the morning.
Come and go, I come and go.
At times I had loved like a phantom.
I left nothing but the smallest traces:
a mark on the neck of a man who never
noticed it, a lipstick stain on his pinky finger,
a thread of hair that had fallen and tangled itself
in his sheets.
I had never wanted to be remembered as anything
except a girl who loved and left only tokens,
But last night before I went to sleep, I remembered that I
had left an earring on your bedside table, and I fell asleep
smiling, because there are certain people that you want to
remain tangible to, as something more than just
a watercolor kiss
après le déluge
(via clavicola)
