curled in a ball, breathing in damp pillowcases;
heaving gasps that search for time and air that is long gone.
I thought I'd buried this heart that searches out train windows at night,
thinking in what if and what else

paperback words of loss take my hand, paint
the silver trails back to lost love, to memory, to
remembering skin, and sunlight, the ache of
desire and imminent separation.

I lay sleepless on swollen eyes and wonder if you
ever think about that day, tucking our faces into our
damp collarbones; knowing that talk remains unchanged
but now, there will be that polite distance between our bodies when we embrace