Ash

You perhaps do not remember.

But how would you?

You didn't see it for what it was.

A lipstick stained table napkin

I left ever so carelessly

on the table across which 

you sat, drinking coffee

Hoping you'd steal it, save it

as a souvenir 

from our last meal together

You also didn't see

my heart on your platter

So I put them back in my purse, 

heart, napkin and hope

And left with as impassive a goodbye

as I could manage.

Now all that is left,

Is a line of ash

From the cigarettes 

I learnt to love from you

from the cigarettes 

that remind me of you

Light, grey, warm testimonies of a high

that wore off all too soon.