I walk into an empty room
and your presence leaks from every pore,
unwinds itself from the fibers of the bleach spotted carpet,
leaps up from the wicker trash can you left behind,
screams at me in the pump-swish of the ceiling fan.
This room - what's left of us now.
Your truck is still in the driveway but
it already feels like you are gone.
This room is us now
and I want to beat the walls for its emptiness.
I didn't mean to fall in love
but now the sun only rises and sets for you.

I lie on the floor
atop our skin cells and fallen strands of hair
that are surely trapped beneath me,
only to disintigrate into my purest essential particles,
protected from the ecstatic pain of love.