He left coffee stains on my pillowcase,
and saltwater by the counter.
Blood from his knuckles on the doorknob,
and then the stale of his breath in my hair.

I sprayed his car with my perfume,
before he left that day, so soon.
He hated goodbyes, so he never said them,
instead, see you later, would bottom his letters.

I lured a man to meet him,
at the corner of Webb and Decree.
I bet his eyes rolled back without laughter,
and his heart hit a beat that's too slow.

I pulled threads out of his sweater,
smiled, and said he'd be mine forever.
But he hates goodbyes, so he'd never say it,
but I'd hug him tight like I wouldn't forget him.

How does it feel,
to mix blood with metal?
or taste glass, or paint,
or miss the pedal?

I heard his mumbling in my head,
like the marks he made,
and the words he bled.

His cologne is still in my kitchen,
but his is gone, and faded quickly.
I forgot how he tapped the counter,
and wrote  a note with an ink-less marker.

I played his favorite song at dawn,
when I would finally admit there was,
something wrong.

I waited for a chime or ring,
I hoped for a little nothing.
But air had turned to something,
and it was a mistake.

I met with a box that was faded black,
with a wounding smile,
and a glass choir in the back.

I looked upon my marionette,
in his faded tux his brother wouldn't get.
In the tie I bought when he was late,
and the watch he wore on our very first date.

The flowers in his mother's favorite color,
but they didn't match his eyes.
I could hardly see their pigment,
except in my head;
I wanted the real ones instead.

The colors wouldn't wander,
or change when he was sad.
He was merged with metal,
but no scars upon his lip.

I remember silver walks,
when he told me he could hardly talk.
He said things he's never say,
and prayed I wouldn't go away.

I lost him to a moment;
a little piece of time.
A too fast, too slow,
wrong place, wrong time.