Remnants of Love

An oil spill covers our beach words and sludge under foot. Stones, pebbles blackened with rumour, the memories you drowned. Words and sludge under foot dragging me under back into the memories you drowned - when I still find you in my pockets, dragging me under back into this stopped clock, this residue when I still find you in my pockets - a wrapper, a receipt of somewhere we’ll never return. This stopped clock, this residue - but your scent left years ago, a fair-weather perfume unlike a wrapper, a receipt of somewhere we’ll never return which leaves me holding a blank map, searching for invisible clues.