by Lilly Purdon
He left his toothbrush on my sink—
a reminder so slight,
yet it haunts me as surely as his touch.
I pointed it out, as if I wished to free myself of it;
he smiled
as he walked out my door,
and chained me with his leaving it there.
And I, a fool to my own heart,
left my razor in his bathroom—
a blade
as sharp as he sees me,
as useless as hope,
bound to rust with the hours wasted.