In the gap between
my bed and the wall,
your name slipped down
from my hand one night.
Difficult to be pulled up,
it crept deep in the gap
my regular dusting,
my irregular shower
of cute nick names,
flying away by the gushes of air.
The day I leave this home,
I might hold a flower in that same hand
filling the void that your name gave.
I might not be looking for you anymore,
for I'll be smelling of a flower,
whose memory will easily fade away.