an incongruous frill

This is the pillow you slept on.
It smells like your 3am skin.
On my tongue it would be translucent smoke
     and opaque wine and the clear water of your going
When I look at it I see a space
     surrounded by an incongruous frill
It makes the sound of silence and of your voice echoing
     in my mind
It feels like cool cloth. Only that.

First published in my chapbook q finger (PressPress, March 2011).