It’s time you left again. Then what? You touch
your lips to mine, get dressed and find your shoes.
You understand, I do not ask for much.
When you have problems I become the crutch
you lean upon. I listen to your blues;
it’s time you left again, then. What you touch
is under tablecloths when we go Dutch,
or in the car while driving. I excuse,
and understand, and do not ask. For much
of what I’d ask for is a dream of such
shadowy depth, if I chased it I’d lose
it. Time you left. Again. Then, what? —You touched
your finger to my cheek. Still in the clutch
of sex, you cried my name out.
____________________What I’d choose,
you understand I do not ask for. Much
vanishes when you pick up your watch,
your cell phone, throw away the things we used—
it’s time.
———–You left again, then.
____________________-What you touch
you understand: I do not ask for much.