of my hair like shampoo
if the memories ran down
the drain like soap bubbles
and take with it the pain

If I’d washed him out
like a stain on my blouse
or clean up the cracks
by adding some grout

If I’d washed him out
like a flood drowning everything
in the path, an erosion of
this thing called love
no aftermath of brokenness
only wings to clear the emptiness