I see a picture of you and it
punches me in the chest, eyes
of night black darkness bleeding
at the corners but your

smile now means nothing; it is directed
to me no longer. Arms so soft and brown
caress a skin other
than mine and you turn

to thinking of her, always. I sit and stare
embroiled in memories
as the print of your hand runs
around and around my head,

the words you once meant that I can
never bring myself to
throw away. The lament of lapsed lovers
sings low and persistent.