Since Last You Poem by Kevin Fisher-paulson

Since last you whispered in my ear I learned
to sleep
with men.

Since last you looked at me with your cinnamon eyes I lost
a biker with a tattooed thigh and married a man I like.
A lot.

Since last you smelled of new cut grass I grabbed
a star I wear each day and bought a bungalow.
I painted it blue.

Since last you gripped my shoulder with your long hard fingers I gathered
and I lost
and I gathered
a family of broken angels

Since last your soft dry lips kissed mine I lost
the easy faith that you had
shoved in my back pocket.

But when the lights go out and fog
gathers round the bungalow,
your shadow crawls beneath my pillow

and that cold whisper
must be
enough