p.m.

Embrace and kiss, briefly, quick
to turn away, back to front, you to me,
accommodating arms and mattress lumps to sleep.
Of course, you tug the single blanket
rolling into it beyond my reclamation.
Such small cause to hate you.

I lie
awake tonight
to the moment of indifference
when loving dies,
when grief has not yet come
to claim its portion,
nor sadness,
nor regret.

3 thoughts on “p.m.

  1. Still so poignant and so beautiful. It just now made me think of Emily Dickinson’s “After great pain a formal feeling comes,” sort of the precursor to it, in a way, maybe?
    This is the hour of lead
    Remembered if outlived,
    As freezing persons recollect the snow–
    First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.

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