Never Finished, but Always Full

Hands in his pockets and tears

on his jeans. We knew

it had been our last dance.

Our off beat rhythm left me

raw. Left me

naked. He

left me. But took

that piece of me he

molded. That piece he melted

morphing it to his shape. I gave

this piece of myself. Trusted

to hold and cradle. He held it

captive. Until he slipped

his grip. Exposing this foreign

body and I knew. I knew

what he did and I tried

to fit. Shifting my body

around his.

      But with each

off step

      a curious

light

      grew between

our

      unknown bodies.

That piece of me, never

finished but never frail. I let him

walk out with it. I let him

leave. His hands in his pockets 

and his tears stained on his jeans.