I don’t remember how I got from Southgate station to this corner market,
I was with you, smelling the leather of your coat
And scratching the tickle in the root of my scalp from where your chin sat
I reached my hand past the stubble and into the curls
The whole way home
I choose something sweet, cold
The refrigeration might bring me forward,
Instead my hand is now slipping in condensation,
I get into the car
Wet body and warm tongue,
Shaking and needing for food, forgetting what my own voice ever really sounded like
Just how you left me and how you will always find me again