he lingers behind dates written in black ink
behind the words “this time last year”
he lingers in deep belly laughs and in the artwork
that hangs on the wall
he lingers in slurping fingertips
and wine spills on the coffee table
he lingers in lazy Sundays of booze and cartoons
he lingers in everything he left behind
when no more love remained
in his heart
for me.
A.P. Bastian 