Our Love Was Like a Palindrome
The pencil shavings left over from your
makeup are still here
as is some hairspray
and the champagne glass you stole for me.
Your essence is strewn around my room
like smoke stains from a fire
but you’re not here
nor will you probably ever be again.
The cars and the craziness still motor by my window
but the loudest sound I hear
is that of your absence
the bombastic quietude of you being gone.
Picking up the pieces of you left around my room
they will live in the drawer
where all my other failed loves go.
Ours was like a palindrome
it ended just how it started
If you like my poetry please get a copy of my zine Love Notes and Other Disasters (even though this poem is not in it)