My
incomplete poems
Are
full
Of
your leftovers
One
of them carries the shawl
You
forgot on my chair last time
The
other one has cake crumbs
From
your birthday
Scattered
all over
Between
lines
One
of them keeps drinking
From
the half empty glass
With
your lip prints on them
Another
one has washed itself
With
your scented soap
Over
and over again
One
of them has stains
Of
your red nail paint
Smeared
on every line
Few of them are entangled
In
your hair brush
Many
of them are suffocating
In
your dark brown suitcase
Yet
many more
Are
always with me
Digging
their nails into my body
Everywhere
You
kissed me
Touched
me
And
Made
love to…
They
break me down
Into
small sugar cubes of your lips
And
turn each part of me
Into
an unfinished kiss
In
love
I
have become
Your
incomplete poem
