Moonlight at night broke your skin
into screens, divisions of lightness and dark,
pieces I am no longer putting together.

Time doing what it does
made a lump in my throat.
I am sung only descant notes of your breath,
sweeter than your good mother's homemade applesauce.

I used to pull my hands across the whole of you
just to see your eyes teem.

You came with the snow falling and sticking,
dirtying and melting.

Life being what it is
made one raveled meditation
of our pizza for breakfast and coffee with dinner,
how we swore we'd have perfect bodies as long as we were whole.

Sometimes the slow way of our now disjoint becoming
lingers on our preferences for crazy, affinity for ecstasy.

You left smeared footprints, a hole in my couch,
lingerings of you bump in the night.

First thing this morning I breathed
onto my window. Even the fog
looked like the shape of you.