She is away and I cannot do what I want.
Her wholeness I know to be a fiction of my making,
Still I cannot dismiss the longing for her
The streets are thick with nostalgia

Other faces pale when I get close
She is away and I cannot breathe her in
Among them I expected her opposite,
And found only forgeries.


When I think of her sparkling face
and of her body that rocked this way and that,
I have attempted to fill
with bodies that numbed upon touching,

When I think of her laughter,
Her jubilance that filled me,
It’s a wonder I’m not gone mad.
The space her leaving has created

Cannot wholly calm or cancel,
It is perhaps for more than her.
As if her going did not matter
she is away and I cannot breathe her in.

At night above the parks the stars are swarming
I move through senseless routine and insensitive chatter
It is a craving for sensation new flesh
I am ill simply through wanting her.