There was a pair of your boy shorts hanging behind the stand up mirror

You know the one in the bedroom that has memories of our freak filled nights 

And if you look hard enough at the glass 

You can see remnants of our anger filled fights 

As for the pink lacy things

You washed them out the night before you left 

After the last of the last time we tried to make this beast work 

We both held our heads high, poke out chests and pretended to be the least hurt 

I stared at the pink lacy things hanging there

Behind the emotionally traumatized mirror 

As if you were coming back for them tonight 

And we could forget what was so wrong and make shit right 

And I was tempted to grab them and inhale your freshly air dried scent 

But I didn’t. 

But I did stare, remembered how your curves filled those lacy things

How you moved in them 

You skin 

From high thigh 

To your blushing eyes 

I let them hang there for a while

I never touched them until today 

They’re gone now 

And so are you