Like scented lotion thinly spread

and sinking into skin to make it glow,

in seconds there's no trace of me at all.

Not on your hands, gathering the ends of your shirt

which I threw on the floor and you picked up and folded,

not on your neck, where starched collar and tie

replace the caress of our wet warmth,

not on your thighs, where seamed curtains rise

and fasten tight, as if they'd never been bared.

And there you stand, as if you never did,

saying goodbye to the small part of me

that hasn't yet disappeared.

- Kenia Mattis