She was always using my brush. I hated that.
Your hair is still entangled in my brush.
Your number’s still inside my phone.
It seems as though I’ve not been in a rush
To rid myself of these reminders of how once
Our lives were as entangled as these strands
Of hair, or that once upon a time our heads
Lay together on pillows in the same warm bed.
Or that our souls belonged to one another.
But now I clean my brush, remove your hair
Disentangle it from mine forever.
I delete your number from my phone.
I purge you from my heart and soul,
But not my memory, where you abide
Like the strands entangled in my brush.
–Stephen P. Smith