We have experienced this same departure five times over.
It should be routine, but my mind bends and aches each time.
I remember each hour, my clothing I wore.
I remember where rough patches were on your hands
as I held them to tell you goodbye.
I remember it well.
I remember exactly the shade of blue
that reflected in your eyes as you told me goodbye.
I sleep that night, each time when you depart,
feeling like something is missing.
You become a ghost limb.
It hits me again, even after five times.
And I miss you already.