Let us be grateful for what we had:
I too made mistakes, lost my way, lost count. Osip Mandelshtam

At the end of that summer
           your boyfriend and I were up late
in the kitchen drinking warm bourbon, talking like brothers.

Your letters       strange, sad
                         letters. Floating on humid-air softened paper,
depicting this perfect happiness. What did you expect?
In
Florida
even the stars look like a mess.
The hot molasses of your mind, having fallen into the gulf, made it boil.

There are shells that sit on Mound Key for a hundred years
           but we were only together a few hissing months...

Your hand sat open in my hand,
touching his hand, your hand. Goddamn-it.
Why
Does
Your absence feel so real or your presence so
uninviting? Things as they are recoil. Your shadow didn’t grieve.
No one leaves anyone. With everyone you love
there to talk to. What could you expect. You were just
saying ordinary things, when our shadows touched so suddenly,
I am drunk again.