the milk carton

where am I in this catalogue?
I search for myself here
and instead find only the remnants of her.
I am here in the gleaming bathroom sink,
so filthy with regret when I arrived
but now polished to the purest white
of forgetfulness.
I am present in the smell of these sheets,
which will soon be washed in the blood of the lamb
and from which my scent
will be mercilessly eradicated.
Just as nothing gold can stay
I cannot remain here longer than a fleeting instant,
my disappearance subject to laundromat sedatives.

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