I want this to be the last poem I ever write for you.
The final words aimed at you from my open heart to the empty space you occupy.
But it won’t be.
It won’t be the last time my desire for you keeps me up at night.
Or the last time I think of you in disgust.
Or the last time I try to explain you to a friend.
No this won’t be the last, but it is the beginning of the end.
I do not fall out of love.
I fade slowly and painfully.
So this won’t be the last
But it is one of the last.