This was one of the first poems that I had published in The Chamber magazine earlier this year.

You are a wallet photo, unseen,

 Dusty atoms of carbon,

Clinging to the plastic strand of a hand brush,

Returned to its place after all was undone

beneath the sinks

You remained, an oil print on my birthday glass,

Whose pleasing shape you drank from,

Had I cleansed myself of you, almost,

A fingertip would reveal itself weeks later,

Uniquely yours, apparently

The dining room rug rolled up, but

Only at the corner, from slipping feet

Retained a trace of flawless skin,

A single hair strayed there too,

The morning trickle of the light made it less visible,

Refusing to be extinguished

I discovered these memories of you,

an infinite desiccation, evidentially

To always be there, with our treasured last words

an indelible truth, typed in hard print,

In the forensic report