He slept on my bed (without me on it) for an hour.


It’s the way he pronounces his “th“‘s and “s“‘s

And how no one else besides me seem to notice.

It’s his overextended eye contact,

the distance from his head to the door frame,

his smile:

as stubborn, as persistent as a Chinese toy tumbler

to return to his lips,

That reminds me of you.


But not the you that left. 

Not the you a week before you left, not even the you one month, two months before you left.

Because the you just before you left,

no longer smiled.