I move the furniture around and buy a new plant to replace the one he left with.
I decorate the coffee table he built and think of the day when he sat down on the couch and with my hands in his, committed to starting a home with me.
“I’ll build us a coffee table” he said.
looking back now it all seemed so promising,
the singular becoming plural, our lives merging.
Now the plural reverts to the singular
because this home is again
I have put thought into every corner of this place. I manifested a home and I love it in a way I’ve never loved four walls before.
I just hate having to see him around here these days.
No matter how much palo santo I burn to cleanse him out of my space, he is still holding me naked against that wall, our lips tasting of mezcal, my hand pulling on the hair at the nape of his neck as we both give in to sin.
he is still sitting beside me on the couch
talking nonstop about this thing or the other
And I’m still cooking him dinner with only an apron on,
still lighting the candles and serenading him as I dance around,
still looking over at him with awe,
still giving away
so much love.
I’m still sitting here
waiting for him to come home
just like I always did
Back when there was a we.