The morning after our earthquake
I examined the canyon between my legs:
Your swelling, ebbing and withdrawal.
The morning after our completion
All my jigsaw pieces grew new edges
Yearning to be part of a whole that would never exist.
The morning after our journey
I set sail in a paper boat folded from your letters
Watching myself drown in the ink of your fickle words.
The morning after you left
I could not swallow the pill:
Your promise of life left me itching; wanting;
Craving your withholding as much as I hated your giving.