Scatter
You’re not gone.
Just
scattered.
I saw your shoulder slump
in a pharmacy queue on someone
who was just waiting to get better but
I weighted the look of you
I saw a ponytailed pedestrian
passing a bus window and for a blinding
flash you were there.
I see your tits and your cunt
when I need to release cos I can’t untangle
your sex from me.
You’re still working through my system
and I spot the features and it nearly nearly tricks
me into missing them.
But it’s just your image.
Refracted and scattered through the lens that is me.
It will fade. Until like some fresco it’s warped and decayed
and it’s a relic of a past not to be replayed.
I’ll cordon it off with the other
bones and it’ll sit on the ash heap because I’m
done.
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