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.