Residue
Remnants of you stick in my gut
like bad barbecue. Pain flashes
cut keenly as a sharp edge of rib.
Your laugh echoes in my ears.
Imprint of your arms lingers.
I want to scurry back to your warmth.
Memory should make me more astute.
Good sense can conquer anguish of loss,
teach me to wait patiently for joy
to reappear wearing a different
shape. A piece of me still wants you
close. It will not acquiesce. Yet.