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?


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