The Last Goodbye

I miss the sound of his voice,

the low timbre, the quiet growl

spoken softly into the phone,

into my ear,

that puff of breath 

that tickles with each hard consonant.

I miss the heat from his skin

through the fabric of his shirt when he held me close.

I understand now

the songs which croon

of one last time,

of once before you go.

I wasn’t offered that last kiss,

that last lingering mix of warmth and salt, 

of pleasure and tears

that says goodbye.

2012