Blood beneath the linen

I

left the door unlocked

when the snow was still water

before your guilt wore someone else’s mouth

your name floated in the hallway

like a child’s cough

like a secret sewn into winter cloth

I came back and the house

had different furniture

but the dust still knew where I’d been

you lit candles with hands

you used to hurt people with

and called it warmth

you said love

like an echo

as if repeating made it real

your shadow bent toward the door

but your scent stayed on the knives

you held me

like a question

then left me

like an answer

you never meant to give

now I carry silence like a weapon

thread my keys through my fingers

walk backwards through our old rooms

naming ghosts

by what they never became

you never made a choice—

you just kept everything

bleeding

beneath

the linen