why
she had no books.
she had
no shelves, no dresser
with drawers
full of
her daily wear.
a few things hung
in the closet,
but the rooms
were hollow, almost
bare.
where were the pictures
in frames,
the mementos
from places she had been,
things passed
down from loved ones.
where was the art,
the soul
of her.
she left no tracks
behind her,
and made none
as she moved on to the next
unfortunate
lover.
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