The night isn’t dark but my world is dark,
Stay with me a little longer.
Your hands on the back of my hands –
that’s what I’ll remember.
Before that, lightly stroking my jaw.
Like a woman training herself to love me.
In the other room, the ghosts of our pasts
putting out the light we live by.
Your hands on a chair perhaps, stroking
my body and the wood in exactly the same way.
Like a woman who wants to feel longing again,
who prizes longing.
And then, you are holding me because we are going away –
these are statements we are making,
not questions needing answers.
How can I know you love me
if I cannot see you grieve over me?