this is not about you

this story is not about you.
it is quiet and smooth,
like the curve of a shoulder blade.
the painted words
seep deeper into the pavement
like the last moments
of waking or déjà vu
but they are not about you.
i came home
with mint and hot words
on my breath,
to a watering can and a pinecone.
i was not alone.
you're moving back again,
to the seamstress' bench.
you're a hanging button
on a coat sleeve.
i'm dipping into ponds
green like clover in springtime.
artesian kisses
on the brim of the pipe.
this is my signal to leave
and this is not about you.