Sick

She is so sick of noticing degrees
Of separation in his eyes; she sits
And looks away when she hears turning keys:
His entry tastes of loss and the exits
That they have shared, he forgets. He can cleanse
His mind, but he won't keep her and won’t map
Her body anymore; she cannot sense
The love she used to feel, lost in the slap
Of each chill greeting; focused on his fall
From grace, in this autumn of her despair
At his loss, she just stares hard at the wall
And wonders if, in winter, he will share
His lonely bed or make his wilted prick
Accept the wrong of making her lovesick...