Remember

when you’re lonely in your room, and the year

is hovering in your eyes; remember, when

he calls you late and sorry, how the tears

had made you wise; how it happened again

and again, pushing you out and pulling you in,

and how his words were wind that fanned your fears;

how he could not help himself, though his skin

was sweet and soft, and though — when you were near —

he was drawn to you; how his body was truth and on-

ly his body was truth — no, no, remember how lost

you felt and how often, and how high the cost,

and how close Love sat next to Lone.

Remember — a whispering in your vein — how keen

the pleasure, but how stabbing deep the pain.