There are as many miles between us
as there are weeks, but still, sometimes
I think of you when the sun has vanished
and the moon hangs low and ominous
in the ink and velvet sky.
I wonder whether you’re two-six-packs
into your night, and if you’ve spent it alone,
and whether the blankets are enough to
keep you warm tonight. Do you feel the gnaw
of an old loneliness chomping at your heels?
I review all the hours I spent crying you out,
cutting into my soul to bleed out the venom
that was your memory, and I wonder if you ever
wondered if I struggled to survive
the hungry, treacherous night.
I think of you in increments, only half-way
remembering your name, to keep you from spreading
like ivy until you choke out everything else.
I can’t recall the days we loved each other
but I remember how it ends.