I smoke and watch her pack.

The taxi waits.

Then a memory of

her last departure-

the scent of her unwashed skin-

and the left-overs

of our arguments...

 

She's smiling as she leaves

me her echo.

She's planning a future

as we fail,

as we fail to finish

yet another argument

another space.

I pick through the remains

of her accusations

accusations that she

broadcasts purposefully.

 

A horn beckons.

Then leaving, sighing,

she grips the tickets

to fresh assignations

and slings a new flight-bag

over a shrugged shoulder

leaving behind the

busted luggage of a life

that we once shared.

 

words and foto T Carroll re-worked