this is not how you leave
with indistinct howling in the synapses
as if I was a bitter aftertaste of the night
or a forgotten suitcase in a compartment of the night train
from Paris to Munich

this is not how you leave
allowing no balance in everyday or in repetition
as if you have forgotten how to count
I wish I was as close as a separation
when there's no trace of your void

this is not how you leave
hunching over your footprints in the sea
cluttering a certain kind of nearness and
nothing but oblivion
into my pores

Lucija Lotus Mlinarič