Here's another version of the poem I posted earlier this week. It's still not done, but I like where it's going, especially now that I have made it a prose poem.
Part of your pours out of me in these lines from time to time
When a shirt goes missing, and I wonder if it's in your closet, until I remember our closets are no longer close enough to consume each other's clothes. Absence fills me with its presence - the imprint on a mattress that never regained its original form. Memories lurk around the house like wine stains on a favorite couch. Sometimes I forget which ideas were truly mine, and which I took from you, molded and distorted until they fit with the rest of my lines.