Three cups of half drunken coffee—cold
and forgotten in the midst of
red smiles stretched across white teeth
and laughter that only sounded
real if you squinted your eyes a little.

One dress, a pair of pants, two pairs of
thick socks, a lacy nude bra, white cotton
underwear and what mama never told me
shoved somewhere in between wrinkled
sheets and pillows.

Your Words, and my words, floating
between us as we tried to catch our
breath and I glanced at you just to see
where your eyes were. They weren’t on me.

“I want to give you my shirt when you leave”
You didn’t, so I forgot and you forgot. And it
lead to everything being forgotten. Including:
Goodbye and a stupid ring scratched with
words that didn’t mean anything after all.