I find you under my fingernails
in the deep pockets of my jeans
in my hair running my hand over it
on my shirt's crumpled collar seam
I wait for you at the bottom
of a coffee cup or maybe two
a new pack of cigarettes is hope
and the last I smoke is rue
your absence is the present moon
your evidence my tired, silent voice
I hear you in the melody of rain
disdain's the ache of love's choice
a photo frame sits on a mantel
dismantled the owner stares long
a cold in the room has the tune
of the sword in the stone's lovesong
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we're not strangers anymore
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