You came to my house
touched things
picked some of them
and put them back,
a little displacement
here and there.
The book that you read on the sofa
and left on the table,
the window covers that you slid to the side as
the slanted rays of the sun
lit your face,
and you laughed,
the pictures in frames
you moved your fingers on
and looked at them,
for a long while
as though you longed
to speak to the static faces
(if only they could hear)
the creases on the bed
where you lay beside me,
and your eyes slipped on surfaces,
never still
until you buried your head in my chest
and they were.
Hours have passed.
That book is turned upside down
on the page that you didn’t finish,
that window cover is rolled up,
but the sun now has set,
the picture frames are lying around
I am standing next to the bed
searching for a mark of you,
something that probably won’t be erased
something indelible ..
You came to my house
touched me,
picked some of me
and put it back
a little displacement
here and there.