Dirty Dishes

The roses you gave me have wilted
The wine bottle now half-full with bitter liquid
Your scent has lost its potency on my bed throw,
my nose strains to pick up the aroma of your cologne
The utensils you ate with have been thrown into the dishwasher...
rinsed, sterilized, steamed
as if you were never here

The pans and pots we cooked with that evening
have been hand-cleaned and placed in their designated shelves
Even the dish rags have become soiled and discolored,
replaced with new ones

I fear
That the traces I have left of you will soon become untraceable
You will become like the grease stains on my stove top...
easily removed and forgotten
The evidence of a meal once shared disappearing
in a mere thirty minutes