In a lonely room in a little city,
He was a magnet
A panicked scramble
Like all magnets, he responded.
In a little room in big city,
He was a thorn
An unwelcome ghost
His invitation returned,
Peeked at, but not absorbed
His ache easily ignored
Replaced by a dozen white flowers
A blocked witness to his grief,
I am unable to mend the tear that sits
Beneath the breastbone,
A little to the left
The lump in my throat mimics his.
Heartstrings in my lap, idle needles in hand
The reopened wound, pulsing
Each day is one more away from
In a shared room in a familiar city,
I wait with him.