Poems - 10. Black Light

And one day I'll forget
the smell of his hair, his eye's
pitch black. One day I'll drop I suppose.
the last words he said, and then the first,
splintering like bells without rhythm.
One day I'll be unharmed
by the small mole on his chin, the sheets
that we shared.
My mind will be white again.
Each day, I think: This is the day,
and then I believe it
until a knot grooves my brain,
and I'm enfolded in the terrible black light again. And one day he'll forget
my hair, my eyes, and my nose,
One day he'll stop
caring about the things we said, though
it's no longer clear who said what.
One day he'll not be hurt
by thoughts of me and,
I guess, of us.
He'll go on; I have.
Some days, I wonder if he has too,
but I never call or indulge long
in the pity or guilt that tastes like soap
and wants to be the terrible black light again.