His fingers were too long,
patched with nicotine stains
and traces of my DNA

I gave him that small
part if myself, a tiny scrap
of evidence he could keep

He knew that I'd send
no-one looking for it

I knew he'd want to
remember me

He knew I'd have
no choice

He left bits of himself
in my hair

drandruff flecks

On the hip of my jeans
there are snowflakes

Droplets of ice
that have frozen
and expanded over
time

They've spread like
the thread of a silkworm

Tying me to the night
we met