“I’m leaving at the end of the year,”
you say,
because it sounds better than
this week, than
day after tomorrow, than
silly girl, you should know better by now.

& it’s not missing, exactly.
The way I look for you in every room.
It’s trying to remember
a dream in the morning–
by the time I reach for you,
you’re already gone.

I know,
leaving is a habit
I cannot break you of.
I press my palm to your chest
like a tray table.
Your body against my body,
a flight taking off.

You say,
“Let’s buy a van
and go everywhere,”
and I still can’t tell when
you’re joking, it’s
two tilts of the same impossible mouth,
so I follow a stranger
around the back of the building,
let him whisper
in your voice
the things he’s going to do to my body.
He says, “I’m going to
hold you down and fuck you hard.”
He says, “I’m going to
make you come and come and come.”
He says, I’m going to
and you’re not going to know
what to do with the empty spaces.

What lazy lovers we are.
Such reluctant soulmates.
My hair comes out in the shower
and I swear it misses your hands.
I have weeks of unplayed Jeopardy!.
I don’t want to ask questions.

I know better
than to ask anything at all.