we are aftermaths

There are things
in its place
bottle caps, air
vents,
Indian sugar
But they don't matter
now, do they
now that you're gone
and everything
seems less beautiful
like maybe the hours
when I think of you
and the days when
I think to not
think of you
the days I smoke to not
cry for you
like the days I suffocate
in hours of you you you
and I swallow chewing gum
because the aftertaste
tastes like you.
There are things that
linger delicately
in corners I avoid,
I understand things
like meeting people or
washing hands or
listening to songs that
broadcast my heart
but after you,
the balance can never
sum up,
the plus signs are odd,
the numbers are
disfigured and I
cannot find you
because I don't want to
I want to, I shun
you, I keep you
closer
I become the effect of
your haunting memories
your voice your body
you are the part
of me that I
try to kill mute
you are gone.

-----------
a poem
Fiona and I