Subdued, I resolve:
I must savour you in morsels.

I attempt to stem thin red tears
With the gentle graze
Of my serrated edge.

No more for you

How many more poems are in you?
I don’t want to keep writing about you.
Thinking about you.
Living and reliving you.
I don’t remember good with you.
I don’t want that nearness to you;
That association.
How much pain is in me still?
It is mine, not yours.
I reclaim my pain.
I reclaim my words.