The Realtor gave me the keys for a last walkthrough

The steering wheel creaked
under my hands, and I could
feel the imitation leather coating
sloughing on my sweaty palms.

The dress shields weren’t going to hide
the anxious pit sweat that just
being here
induced.

Like some crack-addict Adele groupie
I called the Realtor
and asked to see
it one more time
before they tear it down
to build a cemetery

Our place.
(our place)

I wore a power-bitch suit
and dark sunglasses,
hair in a bun,
red lipstick
and the highest heels I could
work on this knee.

I drove with the radio off.
I didn’t want to hear our song.
(They were all our song.)
But I didn’t want to risk it.

As cool as I looked,
I was four seconds away from
screaming against the steering wheel;
the way I did when you left
mouth reared back in a corpse smile
as anguished creatures crawled from my sternum

I made myself unmanacle
my hands from the steering wheel,
open the door and
cross into the past
where
you
snatched me from behind
and kissed the back of my neck
until I squealed and then
spent the night
trying to get me to make that
sound
again

back to the place where
you
held my soapy hand
to your heart as
I quietly laid my head
on your back, while
the shower water
washed away
anything but the
simplicity of us

and I crossed
to the place where
you let me curl in your lap
like a kitten
to read and annoy you
with random weird shit
until you found something
I could put in my mouth
to keep me entertained

or the table you made
your patented kickass burger
and fed me each bite
with your fingers
and joked about
my clit being the
perfect measurements
for your mouth,
and then confirmed
your prowess with
measurements.

and
I still have the picture
on my phone
of the wardrobe you
were making
and a thousand ocean
photos from
the front seat
of your work van.

and the tears fell
unashamed

as I remembered waiting
on this very couch
to get your good-morning text
and picture of the sunrise

I slip out of my shoes
and sink to the ground
dust blotted with the plinking
of salt water from my
memories

because we lived here
for all those years
away from the exes and nexts
and prying eyes that
would wonder
cattily about
it all

we lived here
and made worlds
in each other’s minds
while praying lost goodbyes
would never catch up to us.

but they did.

I wipe my face with
the sleeve of my jacket
and choke a little on grief and
irritation that my waterproof
mascara didn’t hold up.

the loneliest sound
I’ve ever heard
was my key in the lock
on the day that you left

I took this moment
to see it all before they knock it over
and I didn’t expect to hear your footsteps
in the hall like a hellfire hallelujah

I didn’t expect the hair on my arms
to stand straight because I could
feel you standing in the spot where you
carved your name inside my body
while I begged you for more

I can feel your masculinity take up the
echoing chamber but I can’t face you
with this face filled
with remorse.

You said that you’d go if I told you to,
but you didn’t say what you’d do if I didn’t.

and fuck,
right now
I can’t stand the
thought of you
(staying)
(leaving)
(touching)
(abstaining)

I can’t stand the thought

of us

of losing us



again



so I leave you my silence.


I hear your feet shift
as my breath
catches
on a sob