I've carried your watch in my pocket for weeks
the silver brace stays cold
mocking my weary legs with its ice-circle.
and I could have sworn I just felt your fingertips
ticking on my thigh, the way you
nervously tap-tapped, an incessant habit.

And I still can't change your pillowcase
the one you nestled your sleepy
morning shadowed cheeks into.
I drown my face in it's  solemn scent of
your bittersweet traces; blueberries and aftershave.

As I drain my soul into its cotton,
    I wish you were here to scold me for
  leaving your pillow case damp and smeared ash black.