i feel like someone
you last loved on a wednesday,
earlier this week

i feel like someone who was once your intense singular joy/ now and again, an invisible naturalist, poet, neologist and crone

i feel like someone you forgot to mention the Hilma Af Klint show to

i feel like someone losing our intimacy
exponentially, by the second, against a shot clock in an un-united center

i feel like someone whose forehead you won’t kiss; whose hollows you’ll never touch with hands, tongue or tip; like someone who’ll never truly climax again

i feel like someone who upset you with
Dream[ing] and that’s where it ended; someone who never listened to your diatribe about Waco, or heard of your plane rituals and four-part fruition

i feel like someone whose mystery you’ll let be; whose content was consumed without gnosis; like those cold “leftovers.”

i don’t feel like someone you will walk across a frozen Lake or Lake bed to get to anymore, during the apocalypse, Station Eleven style

i feel like someone who was found because of fresh words about rosy-golden light and then someone who was lost because of stale words about time — and timing

i feel like someone whose Diego actually died before she did — and who missed meeting her Henry Miller, humbly

i feel like someone who swallowed all the art she’ll never create with you, and now, i’m choking on it

i feel like someone who’s just about to close up the library – MH

i feel like someone who you owe absolutely nothing to — because that’s exactly how you told me to feel

i feel like someone waking from a months-long dream, but it was actually a coma from a head-on collision, one of full exposition.

crash into me again, please,

but this time, let me die knowing i’m your sweet,
that i Am your love

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ps i feel like someone who just wrote the last true poem you’ll ever read about you,
but i don’t feel like someone who just wrote her last real poem about you.