Journal of a Grief

I.

I want every part of you to fit within me.

You were going to be late for an appointment.
Sunlight constricted everything.
The shock of your face
as if I never truly remembered it.
I dropped on one knee in dampened grass
while you grabbed my hair
and eased your world into me.

The effortless arousal at your command
to take you into me,
pushing,
pulling.
Something so natural,
I wept as you fed me.

II.

I have not showered in three days.  
Haven't brushed my teeth.

Today I found a picture of myself
from high school. Blond, slim. Pretty.  
I hated myself then just as I hate myself now.

III.

Once, you let me rub your back.  
My hands shook violently from desire
and the Wellbutrin.

I learned you with my hands,
studying everything, aching to remember.  
The ring of tanned skin at your neckline.  
The moles upon your back.
Your muscled arms bearing snake-like tattoos.

Your head was down, you seemed entranced.  
I peeked over your shoulder
to see you texting someone.  
My hands retracted back into my lap.
I pressed my head to your back.
Shut my eyes.

Just listening.

IV.

Because of modern technology and social networking,
I am able to stalk you.

I stare at pictures of you, your wife, your child.  
They are beautiful and perfect, just as you are.  

I learn your likes and dislikes, your dreams,
idiosyncrasies. Nothing that you share with me
when we are alone.

If something happened to you, if you died,
I would never know.

V.

Now, my face is your face.
My mouth, your mouth
which I remember not to touch.
Still the betrayal of my tongue
running over your lips,
learning all a tongue can remember.