Aubade & Nocturne

AUBADE

I wish we stayed at yours
for the memory of you wouldn't have
wilted on my bed sheets,
the perfume of us not
steeped into my pillow.
But this room took one good
look at us, your messy locks
and my ironed dress and
said, alright. Stay here.
And had we gone to yours
you would've had to confront
my fragrance
in your sheets and pillows.
No one can win here.
I best get on with my day,
and you with yours, with whatever
two people do separately
after being together.
Perhaps I'll put my whites
in the wash, watch soapy suds
bloom. Make floral the scents
that neutralise after you leave.
And all that'll be left is too
much eau de toilette
on my side and not enough
where you once lay.