Perfectly Gone Poem by Ghazaleh Bayat

There is a reflection of you in every sparkle my lighter makes
And I feel your scent as I smoke my half-burnt cigarette

I find the words I longed to say in the songs they play on the street
And still hear the odd music you made
With the stupid way you dancedyour fingers
On every string of a guitar that didn't exist

Your eyes shone when my feet eagerly moved, taking you to a bookstore I recently found
Do you still keep our things?
The books
Tableaus
Songs
Memories of cats we fed,
Plots of the stories we read,
Pictures of me in your phone,
The image of me on your mind?

Good that we left,
That was the fate.
"No perfect thing lasts forever."
They say.