Without her
I'd never have been more
than that certain type of blue,
a kind satisfaction,
no more certain than a mood.
I'd have groped for peace,
found borderless time
bleeding into decades,
no signposts of love to freeze
a moment in memory,
lend smell, give shape.
I'd have been interesting
to shrinking groups,
called clever and cryptic
instead of what I was:
lonely, lost
dull, deluded.
And now without her
I ache
in the places she showed me,
do my best not to grind my teeth
breathe well,
chew slowly.
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