Rewriting History

I prowl around your room
search your desk, pull out papers,
to find proof of her existence.
An envelope,
the corner visible in Principia Matematica,
of interest to you alone.
Maybe it is better to stay,
to knit you a jumper
with the wool she left behind,
as evidence.
As she lies across your body,
I calculate
the wool is not enough, even
to span your chest.

Water drips from the ceiling, and forms a puddle you cover with your shoe.
You cough politely and start your lecture on the extraordinary phenomenon
of the water that never was.