Ephemera

You taste like longing,

the flavor of thunderstorms---

consistently inconsistent,

like hands that belong interlocked

but roam free instead.

My thumb brushes the outside of yours,

a silent "I got you"---

but I don't have you.

You turned rooftops

from a special place

into a painful memory

in a matter of minutes.

Before you,

I never knew the beauty

that yellow brought,

or smiled when a quirky dog

shed his fur all over my pants.

I'm drawn to the way

you are ethereally conscious---

you knew what you were doing

when you turned my world upside down.

You are more adept than sailors at

making knots but

you placed the noose

around my feet

instead of my neck.

You punish kindly

and pull the knot gently

when you want to remind me

that you’re not mine.

Blood is an acquired taste

and so is

waking up alone.

You made me hate sleep---

because it meant our dates were almost over.

But you helped me appreciate

tender moments under moonlight,

the autumn season,

the cold,

the unusual thrill that comes with not being in a rush,

your lips made me love red lights,

and the day you left

I realized

you taught me

to love the things that don't always last.