Ashes

Today, I emptied my ashtray
of our commingling leftovers
of sensation, pleasure;
of a scratched itch
that never lasts long enough.

The only proof
that you were ever here,
that you ever said to me
that I’m being fallen for
when falling was not an option.

And now I sit alone, inhaling the smoke,
the possibilities,
then exhaling the memories
that can only be accessed
by rummaging through the waste.

Against my better judgment,
I let it start. I let it
f e s t e r
into an addiction, not unlike
those I’ve had before.

I said no, then
I said just one, then
I couldn’t stop.
I always knew it would hurt me
but every inhale soothed,
plagued my chest.

Today, I emptied my ashtray
of our commingling leftovers.
The only proof
that you were ever here.