There are no crumbs, no bed to trace
Where your body once rested
There is a space in my apartment
No one to pour me tea, two lumps
Half a cup
Bathroom turned back to normal
No water to mop up
My yoga mat sits in the corner: Lonely, like a sheep on
Barren land
My walls weep: Missing your dangly feet and outstretched hands
My sides no longer ache, from sillies and laughter
Your recitals’ of dreams and of happy ever after
There is a space in my apartment.
Your voice singing the blues: Lingers, like the towel you left draped
Over the living room door -
Floor free of clutter, and you, uttering those words:
You’re snoring again…
There is a space in my apartment.

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