tigerlily

the last time we had sex
i wish i had paid more attention.
really.
not that i wasn't
but i wish i had spent the time
memorizing, with my hands, all that i love
about the way you feel.
the slope of your back
the fuzz on your belly
the firmness of your hands.

i wake up in the middle of the night
my arms, heavy with slack
where i'm not holding you.
i press my other pillow
tight into my chest
hoping to keep my heart from falling out.

in the morning
i skip the futility of makeup
standing at the sink
looking at my face in the mirror
and holding onto the counter for dear life.

outside the bathroom window
in the garden
a hummer sings a squeaky joyous song.
but as the sound hits the void
in my stomach
it becomes a mockingbird's refrain
reverberating around
and around
and around.

throughout the day
i look at my hands
practicing open
and closed
open and closed.
and try to imagine
the unfathomable task
of letting you go.