Saturday, July 5, 2014

Things I will not have:

Laying at your feet
Purring when you remember
That I am here and
Stroke my hair.

Dropping to my knees
At the sound of your round voice
Asking me to wait
A minute

As I watch you go
From her to a closer you
Rounding down the steel
In your core.

Tracing the curve of
Your waist in eyes and kisses
And worshipful touch
Thrumming in.

Washing your hair and 
Scrubbing free the dead skin cells
Under warm cloth or
With my nails.

Laying down clean and 
Protected by the smell of
Your damp hair on my 
Dry pillow.

Waking up clinging
To the hallow your hip made,
Smell sticking to sheets
Empty, warm.

(I know I wept but
My pillow is dry and the
Salt wet under yours
When I search.)

Laying hands grasped as
I sob out memories drug
Out of my own depths
Beside you.

Feeding you breakfast
Well past noon because who let
The either of us 
Be adults?

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