Key in lock.
Open. Stop.
Hollow.
Empty rooms,
like darkened tombs,
swallow.
Clock ticks.
Blaring clicks,
echo.
Left uncreased,
your pillow — sheets.
Aching.
Naked hangers.
Stripped remainders.
Clinging.
Your melting scent,
at last, it went.
Bereft.
No replies.
No goodbyes.
Gone.
