Since last you whispered in my ear I learned

to sleep

with men.

Since last your cinnamon eyes looked into mine I lost

a biker with a tattooed thigh and married a man I like.

A lot.

Since last you smelled of new cut grass I earned

a star I wear each day and bought a bungalow.

I painted it blue.

Since last your fingers gripped my shoulder I gathered and

I lost

a family of broken angels

Since last your soft dry lips kissed mine I lost

the easy faith that you had

shoved into my back pocket.

But when the lights go out and fog

gathers round the bungalow,

your shadow crawls beneath my pillow

and that cold whisper

must be

enough