Things I’d Rather Not Admit
The distance between us now is an epoch
and my hands sweat for yours
You open the door in my dreams,
back again,
and I am shaking uncontrollably–
In control of my hand on the doorknob.
In control of my feet ascending the stairs.
I count, count forwards.
The things I know now:
decimal points, turns of phrase,
still the feeling of your fingers
lightly touching my clavicle.
Wasting months:
you left my life for good and
I chopped off all my hair.
Made a vow,
added some semicolons.
And, really, this skyline is perfection:
blinking lights and bruising wind and goddamn.
Just goddamn: glasses of wine, friends curled
on sloping floors, relating.
When it gets late enough,
quiet enough,
I miss a fragment of you that I took with me.
You are not the you I knew anymore.
But that’s no consolation.
published in Ubiquitous, Winter 2008
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