With his destructive, self-indulgent, evasive take on reality he became like a piss stain on carpet. Ultimately washed up, vacuumed over, and removed. The smell of him wafts around melancholic, persistent, and disingenuously consuming happy resonance in a private glass of wine. She drizzles her glass on the floor as if to layer-over the treads of his passing and make them hers again. Uplifted, driven, alive. She admires her red stain, not easily removed nor quickly forgotten. She pours herself another and resolves to kindle as the carpet soaks.