He leaves a trail in his wake. A tie, indecent on the bedroom floor. A toothpick on the bookshelf. Peanut brittle, sucked, stuck like chewing gum to the desk. A scrawled draft of weird, of wonder, on a scrap of paper. Three novels by the bed, all unread, pages marked with cocktail sticks and a clip from my hair. A faint scent on my sheets, a damp toothbrush by the sink, knots in my curls and a bloom in my cheeks.
