The milk spilled

December 11, 2009
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The milk spilled

it spilled on the bed,
filling the empty space that you once occupied.
Your smell still lingering in the air, musky and sweet.

The white drops scatered,
like the slow rains in the summer.
The raindrops release pockets of heat from the asphalt's back.

Spreading, thinning, the milk moves,
drop by drop it forms puddles in the leftover spaces of my heart.
As I breath, the milk slips farther and farther into the crevices of my soul,
cleaning it, preserving it, coating it with the innocent color of white.

White, splashed all over my face, my soul, my body,
dripdripdrip, the milk flows disappearing slowly,
small traces left behind eventually disappear.

The day was snowy, cold, and white, this was the day you left.

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