the kettle whistles from the kitchen,
blue flame licking at the soot bottom.
it whines hungrily, needily, as the stove
crackles, laws of chemistry testified
with my fingers twisting in the hem
of your sweater in the brittle december air
as if i can tug your body into mine,
store it in between my hollow ribcage,
fill the want of a live pulsating heart with
your rocking back and forth between my
arms. i record your laugh in my mind
and replay it for hours – i try to imitate it,
but all that garbles out is a sob in minor 2nd
interval, my fingers clawing into the keyboard.
you tell me you love me with the supermarket
flowers you took the extra long route to buy,
sitting in the black morning, door ajar, palm on
my back post-nightmare, your pulse pounding
against my temple when you say it with your
whole chest, and when you leave i am only me,
half-whole without your hand in mine.