sangria stained red suitcases
packed for a summer vacation
from the winter of us, you said
you left behind an empty can
of a room spray which had tried hard
and failed to clear the air, you said

a dried up ball point pen rolled out
from under the bed, it’s okay,
you had no more words left for me
between the roll of wheels and the
slam of the door, I realised
you were leaving on more than a
vacation when you neatly packed
the skeletons in your closet
but left without a backward glance
at the unaddressed elephant
in the room – its shadow on you