She’s Gone

Oh, enough with your illicit affairs

Your secondhand quilts

You standing there painting

In the middle of your bedroom

Canvas on a literal easel

Your clothes, books, and CDs

Scattered in an apparent explosion around you

Just enough space cleared on your bed

For your scrawny body spread out in star position

Asking me philosophical questions

About family, love, death, capitalism

Monogamy, childbirth, recipes

Which could make your sadness seem almost bearable

And enough of me missing you

As soon as you left for work in the morning

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