every night

he comes to the alley,

same time, same routine.

his odd shoes, her trainer,

still reeking of

forensic plastic

and final traces

of her existence.


every night

he takes off his shoes,

placing all three at

the entrance. barefoot

he walks each

cold cobbled stone

and listens to walls hoping

to share their secret.


every day,

on an empty bed

he cries himself

to sleep, in movies

haunted by her last smile

and the pillow

which covered her face

one final time.  


© Davy D 2018