the six year itch

the morning came so soon. the light filtered through thick curtains - the minstrel of my sadness. he pretended he's asleep. but how could people like us sleep- when there's too little time, too few spaces where we could be.

i peered over his shoulder, kissed his cheek. i knew that that morning, the first and the last we'd have together would soon fade, like ripples- outward, lost like it never was. but i knew too little then of the depth of my tragedy. in my mind's eye i would always see his bare shoulder illumined by filtered light, his eyes shut too tight holding back the morning. over and over i would breathe in the scent of his skin, the scent of goodbye. there is no unlearning the taste on my lips, the scent of his skin.