Room; before I leave you

Your knuckles are white and fierce.

Like aggregate pushing

Against the tarmac of your skin.

Dripping;

Your body is a wet road.

Your little hands, the arches of your feet,

The inward curve above your lip

Sweat like rain.

Your face is paper; eyes white as eggs.

I hold your head in my lap;

Temples stuck to my thigh.

Ice flowers spread across the window.

In the blueness your neck is damp.

Heavy words

Fall, drop

Heavy

Onto your heart.

The morning will hold a stillness,

And I will leave you,

The skin of the evening wilting

On the roofs of our mouths -

The taste of the things we have,

And then have not.