What you don’t understand –

because I didn’t tell you –

is that I call “blowing into donkeys’ nostrils”

horse kisses.

The conversation between our feet

as I felt the smallest movement from your calf

brought home the I know, I understand,

you are good for me too.

When I noticed the quiet –

I need you to understand –  my loathe

of your absent presence pained me

when I saw your body missing from its place.

Understand, too, I’m not so sentimental to keep

the symbols of your fingers’ care

put at attention like players appealing

against my instinct to toss them.

What I don’t understand, often,

is what I should do in relation to you

knowing that what I want has the possibility

of not being the whole truth.

I understood too, that later I would

take the blankets – now washed and drying-

into the hug of my arms

and smell you, breathing deeply, reliving.


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