UNTITLED ENDING
,

UNTITLED ENDING

Everything must come to an end

eventually – I’ll reach a hand

across the table, and you won’t be there.

When you drive away, I’ll smell the pillows

and what’s left of you. I’ll try to understand

why this had to happen, and why it stays

suspended in the air, hovering like a fly

waiting for a taste of what it remembers,

sweetly, regardless of the stench – guilt.