Did you decide that winter
is your vanishing season?
That the frost is where you take your leave?
I have starved on less,
but you swore I wouldn’t be hungry
this January.
So, why do all my pockets have holes
and my heart vacates
like a hotel room
after a weeklong conference?
So, why am I alone,
holding hands
with memories,
begging stars
to tell you
goodbye doesn’t mean forever?
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