It arrived on the doorstep this morning.

My dirty laundry

spilling out of your

gym bag,

reeking of

tobacco ash

My body and mind have been

sorting through it

as a team

separating

colors, darks, whites.

While my heart runs

back to those

apartment nights.

And I taste the cigarettes

in the kitchen frying pasta

in the bathtub

in the bedroom with

the fan blowing

ashes sprinkled on

velour, on skin,

in the beer,

in the ashtrays that

made this laundry so

dirty.

I taste the cigarettes and

I indulge in the flavors

of nostalgia

until I remember the

other girl and

know for certain

you must have shared

cigarettes with her

too.

My dirty laundry laying

witness on the floor.

I taste the cigarettes

and I wonder how I could

put this defeat

into words instead

of tears.

This is the one

that enters the big book

and I'm choking

up, unable to say

anything worth

more than a dime

anything worth more

than a shrug

from you.

Can you understand?

I am deprived of words,

I am drained.

I cannot

bring it or

give it

anymore.

There's nothing left

to bite into.

I let go of it

a few miles back

it weighed me down

It hurt me, was no good

to me.

I cannot write that beautiful

poem. No words

of mine could

serve me

justice.

But if you want a taste,

(now that I've started)

I would ask you to close

your eyes and

think of your one

truest lover

lying in front of you

smoking cigarettes

with another.