None of this made the photo album:
the sound your left foot made
dragging across the fraying carpet,
but how quiet you were by my bed.
The redness in your nose, grown soft,
almost strawberry in form and feel.
The breath I felt above me, peanut
and bitter, but sweet when you wanted
something I couldn't give you.
But I can still see those pictures:
you smiling at me like a clown.
I wet the bed remembering.