I am sorry little sprout
left in that far coastal sun

as seasons cycled long enough
your seed just sewn's outgrown
 
today my stem is rooted
in a life you do not know
 
but I think of you most 
when wind whips my cheeks

and rain soaks my feet
planted in a tired dream 
that did not include you then

reach out and touch the 
space 
I used to occupy beside you
 
wrap your longing arms around the
emptiness 
in your bedsheets
 
i wonder if my footsteps left 
imprints
on the itch of your carpeted floor
 
do your sad eyes try to focus on my 
silhouette 
no longer there in the dark?
 
i wish for you to 
breathe 
better now that we don’t share oxygen
 
inhale and you will no longer 
take 
   parts 
      of 
         me 
            with 
                you.

how come no one talks about
the skin ripped off with the bandaid? 
the sudden surmounting pain
that makes your knowing eyes well
like two glistening puddles
 
we picked at adhesive edges
until they curled over time,
neither of us wanting to 
rip, yank, tear, jerk
at our frayed lifeline
 
the wounds are still fresh,
now simply uncovered,
exposed to the elements,
collecting dirt, bacteria and hurt
stinging to your tentative touch
 
if only we could stick together
like stitches woven in skin,
fusing flesh hearts into one,
but we wielded the scalpel 
and both wept as our blood dripped.