"You always smile like you're about to cry."
I remember when you told me that.
We were lying together, and it was nearly dark,
and I could see the smoke
curling up away from your face,
which was lit by a cigarette.
I suppose after you left, I needed to get rid of
traces that reminded me of you.
The scent of your perfume was easy,
as simple as doing the laundry.
But your cigarettes lingered
so now I burn incense
day in and day out while I write,
and smoke my cigarettes,
and drink more coffee than I should.
And I can't help but think
that ashes are all that is ever left of my relationships.