my skin smells of metal and second hand smoke

books of religion and poetry and fiction line the walls

some lay open on the floor like i do some nights

a naked ******

i am not wedding-dress pure like my father thinks i am

and i waited for you

with all your missing words

always eight letters late

as you were off learning new languages

German, Dutch, Italian

do not speak to me in them

my roots do not match theirs

i lingered just enough

my fingertips graze the places you touched

and memories seeped from the floorboards

the evidence of your presence is fading

i just want to sin again

to finally feel normal