..

last night I made a man
out of pillows and forgotten
fragments of clothes
we’d pushed into my drawers.
I held my pillow-man’s hand
and made sure he wasn’t too warm
because it is summer;
I’m on the second floor;
and that was always your
biggest complaint.

this morning I tried to shower
but would turn off the water and run
like a soapy dog, complete with
loyal tail wagging, to the door
thinking you’d come knocking.
You hadn’t.

tomorrow will taste like
the food of a week ago
and I’ll wear sunglasses,
which, if you know me,
(and you do)
will seem out of context
and like a little girl
playing dress up.

I know there are supposed to be
thunderstorms, perfect
radio love songs, movies with Meg
Ryan and wondering when we’ll meet
again,
but God
doesn't budge on the details.