38. The You's You Leave Behind Poem by Not Long Left

On our breakfast table is your comb, curled
around its teeth your scented blonde hairs.

Upon the sink sit your teeth frozen in permenant
smile, contradicting the mood of my emotion.

Beside this bed your book, pages thirty two
and three lay open reading and calling me.

Inside your wardrobe hangs your red dress
waiting to be picked so to wear you again.

Closing the fridge I see your face staring out
into the blur of the sea, hands clasping mine.

Under my head your perfumed pillow in the
blindness of night I awake to the smell of you.