The night you drove me home
and as I got out,
stood in front of your car
and got “happy feet”
for you.
And the time you called
an hour before sunrise
to meet you for coffee insisting
Come as you are
You knew I slept in the nude.

I hate you for leaving
robbing me of lovers’ secrets
and silly arguments turned to
make up sex

Now
I lose each time I search my bed
for hints of you.

Your mother lived three more years after you left,
and I stopped correcting her when she called me
by your name.

It started the day after it was over,
when the visitors had all left,
and the dishes were put away
she touched my hand against her face
saying
Tomas, you always did have gentle hands.

Somehow I thought
if I kept you distracted long enough
I would become that piece of you
that filled you and made you smile

But you had demons with tight grips.

Now
I lose each time I dial your number.

And I wanted to be
that piece of you
that could give you calm,
keep you here
but, you were dead-set on remaining
ageless.

The days go by
and I never seem to get to a place
where I feel that I belong
your ghost offers no comfort,
can be no substitute
for the sweet
that filled my rooms,
painted every wall,
and chased out the gray quiet
that now beats in the center of my heart.