I look for traces of me
in the smoke stacks bursting
from your mouth,
                              in the bottom of empty wine bottles
                              and the vapors rising between sips.
I look for reflections of me
in the crystal
from around your neck,
                              in your blue-green eyes
                              and empty spider webs.
Some small chemical amount of me
must be left on you, somewhere
                              although your skin cells have shed
                              since we last met.
Your muscles must remember me
like whispers in your hair
hands touching in the dark
unfolding me from tree
when I thought I was queen.