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?