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the next room

has a tea cup with stale cold water in it

the ring on the inside like a faded promise

that you'd stay

I left it there on the day

they told me the medicine wasn't working

I left it just as you'd left it

as if you'd be back to claim it

and your mouth would take its place

and drink, and I'd be able to look at your face

when I told you

that I was glad you were still here.

Maybe the tea cup was my fear

that you'd have to leave while the sun set on my anger

and they always say not to let the sun set on your anger.

But mine was

in the cup

where your mouth had been

sat in an empty room

where I can still smell

the perfume that had lived on your skin.

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