Departures

The last day,

prelude to your departure,

post circumspect confessions

drawn out of

our thin acquaintance.

It is a bone in my throat;

I breathe around it,

Shudder at it.

My affections for you

belonged first to me--

to me only,

wracked me, possessed me--

And as I say goodbye,

I am as alone as I was

When that fire set itself inside me,

with only the shape of the flame

inspired by your touch.

I feel your loss as a clap of thunder,

a wet bell of sound,

whose grinding surge threatens to weep

from every pore; though, when pressed,

won't come.