Tony's gone

Your black work shirt

That’s torn at the collar and

Smattered with paint, with

The hem that falls past my cold

Thighs, is all I can cling to in the

Aching hours after you

leave.

 

My sheet still holds your scent

Long after I’ve ruined your shirt

With my orange blossom body

Wash.

 

Even though you’re gone I leave

The window open. How you like it.

My wet hair sticking to the back of

My neck, making me

Shiver.