The Watermarks Across My Skin #28

It’s like I was never even there,

I wiped my lipstick off your old ceramic mug.

It’s like I was never anything,

Taking my words from your arms,

Stretching out from the window of your car.

It’s as if things kept turning after I left and

I wasn’t there to watch the constellations pass by,

Messily and perfectly and still in the same places

They were centuries ago.

It’s as if comets don’t matter

And I don’t matter and all I want to say is that

You don’t, either,

But you woke up next to me and looked at my soul and

I think that you know you do.

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