I Swear I’m Trying To Forget You. (More Apologies)


I threw those sheets away.
Your skin was everywhere.
Going to bed was all
threadbare used-to-be blue-grey
It was all especially softness in the center
where we used to be.
I swear there were pores on the pillowcases.
I washed them so many times and still
there was this faint smell of you
the stuff you washed your hair with
and the leftovers of your cologne.
Look at me.
I’m romanticizing bed sheets.
I got new ones
that seem to fit the bed a little too loosely.
Someone else sleeps there sometimes.
They’re a deep brown and I tell myself they
remind me of the way his eyes
look when he tells me he loves me and
not the way your skin
looked when I would open the windows and the
morning light would hit your back,
the rise of your shoulder blades,
the slight sink of your spine.


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