When I was with him 
nothing else mattered. 
The sun rose and set
for days, over only us. 
What I carry he also carried. 
What he carried, I carry still. 
Our voices hang like stale echoes
In the air 
over the high room we shared
above the busy brasserie.
It’s lights long since dimmed,
tenderness abandoned
lies forgotten, 
saucers dusty.
Spoiled milk.

I was in the neighborhood yesterday
And peered through the epitaph 
at my dreams.
The tattered pages of my life
were scattered around the dusty tables,
chocolate smeared and wrinkled 
from dried teardrops
and too much touch.
Coffee stained and creased
from too much scrutiny.
A place so cold and quiet
that I had to turn and leave.

And as I did
I heard the final reverberation 
of the bowl,
long since faded to silence.
A broken cup.
The last song heard.
The last joke made.

Did I love him?
Oh, 
only as I love myself
Do I miss him?
Like summer misses joy
when it has moved onto fall

And as I shut the door
my body whispered 
the soft voweled words
in silence.
I adore,
I adore thee
I adore thee, evermore