if my teeth were made of metal
i wonder if leaving you would still
make my mouth taste like dirty rainwater and stone

i’m pressing myself to a phantom death 
nothing has left yet but
the threat of permanence is pulling at my eyelids, 
forcing my eyes to see and see and see 

and i have kept your Leaving sewn 
into the creases of my palms 
I build all my barns with it 
and rub out my aches with it 

The Transience of Man, 
and The Love of My Life,
and a Flight at 5:50 Tonight.