December 24, 2018 at 4:59 pm Leave a comment



Too many words. You’re leaving
and I don’t know why: your reasons
have no core. Or perhaps i

simply cannot understand. i
don’t even know that, as you
frantically pack your clothes. (I never saw
you do that without folding
before.) I know you never
understood me. Few people have,

none of them women. I am a poet.
I know too many words
(i have always known) too many

there is no meaning
to your leaving.
you have become, nearly
–or perhaps really: i suppose
we’ll find out–
a part of me. o, what

shall i say in the morning?
how sleep in this bed shaped slowly
to your body’s curve: how sleep,

without your warmth? but
i say nothing, and
you merely leave.

Entry filed under: how love equals loss, love, social psychology.

scarred recollections meanings 3

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