The Death of Desire

Some mornings, if I am not careful 

I feel the phantom itch of a heart that is longing

Broken open and ready to be filled

But I know I am not that echoed cavern any longer

That ghost is so unifamilial to me that sometimes

I forget what desire feels like

And I think

That might be the death of the poet in me

So I mourn her 

Quietly 

When no one else is watching 

 

My days are a carnival of small celebrations 

of having the life I always dreamed of

With love 

Overflowing in every direction

With a purpose to give myself over to 

With a partner and a family who accept me 

with all my promise and shortcoming 

But in the cracks between revelries,

I cry for the lonely lover I left behind

And today I wake up unmoored by the quite part of a perfect poem 

And I realize

I was unprepared for the sacred sacrifice I would have to make

I did not know that being full would mean I would have to lose

The most familiar parts of myself

And so to love you 

I left her in a shadow I have no intention of returning to 

 

There is no regret 

Just the worry that soon everything I know about yearning 

May be what I imagine or what I am able to remember 

From a time before that is so far gone

She is so foreign

And so I will mourn that loss, too

The version I was before there was you

And love

And every dream I could have imagined, came true