The Last Sign of You

To The Lady on the Train,

I bent to inspect a crack in the tub
A dark thin line against white porcelain
My bare feet on cold black and white tiles
But my hand pulls away a long strand of your hair.
 
I hold this secret curl of you in my palm
It had been weeks since you were in our sanctuary
I used to find strands of your hair throughout my world
And feel your presence in every corner
The scent of you filled the bed sheets
 
A dark thin arch against white skin
Holds a weight of years
Holds the sway of all my thoughts
And this, the last strand, has cracked porcelain and me

The Man in the Station