I finally got around
to cleaning the house.
I find bits of you
everywhere.
Hair plugging
the bathroom sink.
Your shirt I would
wear on Sunday mornings.
After we had made love
and I fixed coffee.
In the night table draw.
A bunch of photos
of our trip to Venice.
It was too much.
I sat on the edge
of the bed and wept.
Why on earth
did you always
leave such a mess.?