I'll miss

When you leave, 

take the embalmed summer squash 

 

you sent through the mail 

as a sign of affection, 

the apricot pit

you sucked to the bone

then thrust in my mouth

during the first kiss

of our first night of bedpost

and fruit and nylon seduction;

take the choice Adorno quotes

you used to explain

the half-hearted handholding

at the river in that New England city

where you snuffed out

every possible chance

for me to say it out loud;

take the poolhall serenade,

the see-and-raise metaphors,

the mouth and neck allusions,

the overtold stories

of wrists and teeth.

Despite the Elizabethans,

I do not love you

or your adjectives;

so take all those bandaged moments,

the ruined voice, the dark space

between tooth and lip I'll miss.

[Teresa Leo, 'Song of Woo with a Hole in it', from The Halo Rule]