They sit
bent frames
a burnt sepia hue
burning gold in the light
there's a smudge of paint
near the dusty mote trapped lenses
there's also me now
studying the structure of the glasses
recounting all the times you wore them
they'd slip off your broken three times nose
in the heat of the summer
or they'd be casually perched on
the crown of your head
when you were lounging on your bed
watching crime shows
(I'm still unable to watch them, even now)
you'd leave them half falling off your face
if you were in the middle of a titillating tale
from the days of your youth
they'd compliment your gap toothed smile
or wait in solace
at the top of the fridge
while you were busy
doing woodwork in your shop
downstairs
but the result is still the same
as the faded old license of yours
that rests in the pocket of my bag
when I miss you
I pull them out
place them askew on
my own bumpy nose
and just smile at
the memories they
bring me
I even wear your
sweater
it takes me back to before
before everything happened
the only realm I want to exist
in
these days.