I return from an evening of poetry to break your heart.

Just me and thee.

It takes me to add and everyone else,
except it is all about what we don't have
and have lost.

The radio is staple because they talk
of abstract things that remain
unimportant and we all pretend

we are listening to music and radio plays
instead of thinking
about an unknowable end.

It is cold, but I do not remember that
until later. It is only the wet of things
that is normal for a while:

your jumper; her coat; my pillow;
endless tissues. My eyelashes,
gathered and dark.