I can’t feel around, “you,” anymore.
So to, the smiles only happen atop numb.

And I’d call it a, “kind of solace,” in knowing
Tomorrow wouldn’t matter either;

Not quite so much, so long as five, at least five
Of your, “sisters,” remain under ice and in the fridge.

This cure, “acquiesce and amnesia,”
At any given time,
Culls all but one, you –
My wife, and a third year’s scorn.

Nevertheless, I don’t want you to forgive me.
I truly don’t. I only want you to leave,

Pack and make good on your covenant so that this
Swim may end, for my toes should test elsewhere.

Just and walk away. Don’t look back, “please,” “PLEASE!”
Don’t look back so that I may finally look ahead!