I haven’t vacuumed in days.
Your unwashed shirt remains in my bed,
At night, it helps me cradle my rotting heart.
I haven’t dusted the top of the refrigerator in weeks,
Your handwritten notes now covered in cobwebs.
I read them from time to time, whenever the ache
caused by your absence gets a little too much.
I haven’t cleaned the kitchen sink in months.
Your favorite bread knife now covered in rust;
I tried to use it once, to scrap the remnants
of you and me from my skin, I failed.
I haven’t scrubbed my back in years.
I can still feel your fingertips, gently tracing my spine.
It has been years since the last time we touched.
There’s something dirty about heart aches
And I was never dirty,
But after you…
I can no longer be clean.
Even in scraps and dusts
For you I would settle,
Just so I could preserve you,
Just to prove to me that you were real.
—even in dust
justsaturnine
