I watched the door close behind him,
heard its soft click.
And the memory would not leave but burnt all the color from my eyes.
Sightless, I now see as the wind feels.
My friends speak to me
Using words bent,
Screwed and
Wound through
Steel forming machines.
I answer with
Doorknobs,
Tire nuts and
Spaghetti ladles;
Sounds I cannot account for. Words and feelings I suppose.
You smile
His desire touches your breasts your thighs your womb
(In the closet
words boots and shoes
tumble to the floor)
You offer your body
And I surrender.
From my desk, I watched him leave.
He was quiet, respectful, careful not to disturb.
Thinking, I suppose, that I would not notice.
Thinking, I suppose, I would care to live without him.
Now, I spend my days carefully removing the labels from every memory
washing each and scrubbing them all identically white
hoping to forget that I saw him go,
watched him go, let him go.