The remains of you are under my fingernails
I scrub again and again,
I see an imperfect,
Solemn,
Heartbroken face,
In the reflection in my fingernails.
There's bits of you remaining,
A ghost in the imperfect breeze fluttering through the window,
A butterfly's wings against my cheek.
I scrub away the remains of you.
A stain of jam on the floor,
A sock without a partner,
A piece of candy from Halloween under the couch.
But no matter how much I scrub and wash away some pieces of you,
There is always one more that remains.