Title Needed

she asks me 

“are you lonely?”

and there you are, unbidden

the proud ridge of your nose

your strong brow

it’s almost like you never left

how could you be gone

when the cadence of your speech

with its silences + slow breathiness

is just beneath the surface

of each fleeting thought

but almost doesn’t count

when it comes to cleanliness

or companionship

i wash dishes you never touched

after eating meals I never made for you

there is an empty space to my left

where you should be 

sitting in my kitchen

rubbing grapeseed oil

into my cutting boards

which were hewn by hand

your long, narrow palms

and intelligent fingertips

should be Glistening 

beneath this waxing moon

Jamila croons 

“i’m not lonely, i’m alone”

and here I am, inhaling

the particular perfume of this Longing

at the base of my own throat

even now

with its splintered handle

and ruined riveting

your fragrance clings

to the blade of my heart