Boo

Every time I think I am getting over
you,
A friend comes home
And says,
”You’re better off, boo”;
Or
an underwear
You
left
behind,
Sneaks out of our drawer,
And fucks with my mind;
Or
I see some guy
Walking down the street…
And I am reminded
of your
Hair,
or eyes,
or gait,
or feet –
And, no matter what therapy I have gainfully employed,
You
descend on my heart,
And I find it
destroyed.

Last Things

Bottles of medicines –
Empty now and lying there –
The last of your shampoo
I used on my hair.

The black comb
You forgot to take –
The socks in the drawer –
Careless mistakes –

The pop socket broke –
We bought it, us three –
These little, last things
You won’t ever see.

I hold on to them
Like pieces of a heart,
And wonder when
The moving on shall start.

Last Kiss

I look for you in different faces,
Some are cold and some are kind;
But I can’t touch any of the spaces,
Where love was gentle and blind.

I reach out to strangers,
Unmindful of their fear, too,
That there are certain dangers
Of trying to forget you.

I seek them out and express all my hope,
That someone out there will feel,
Will bar anxiety, or help me cope,
Wipe my tears, or help me heal –

But it all ends up happening again –
Expectations burn promise.
New hurt makes stronger unforgotten pain,
From your last words and our last kiss.