temporary taxidermy

My hippocampus has a leak in it,

and every step I take

spills out a form of you

I’m forced to relive.

It’s more languid,

a slow drip,

squeezing the last of the honey out of a nozzle,

the final drops of blood draining from a stag hung upside down,

torpid,

the way I get out of bed ever since you left.

It’s a pitiful display of zest, but for me, it’s a small win.

The room I’ve stuck you in

would convince you the house is

dilapidated,

but I assure you any place

without you

feels like squalor.

Scribbled notes cover the floors,

like a mathematician

fumbling over a breakthrough theorem.

The walls are plastered with maps,

tacks and strings intersecting each other,

attempting to pinpoint where and when

you slipped through my fingers.

You’d think I’m an investigator

heading a manhunt.

You look to the left and there’s a wanted poster with your face on it.

I drew it from memory with spent matches

and stomped on a pomegranate

to shade your lips.

On the mantle, there’s an hourglass without any sand in it.

I’m not sure what that means, but it means something.

In my mind,

I have you pinned against the wall.

This time, it isn’t erotic.

Your hair is disheveled, but for different reasons.

Like a 16-point buck

or a big-game marlin,

I set you high above the fireplace

where the heat won’t compromise your integrity.

I entertain my emptiness

and envision how it would feel to have secured you,

for you to remain stationary in my life, for once.

I’ve drunk patience til the cup was empty.

I'm still acquiring the taste.

I am no expert in hunting,

and you are no prey.

Now that you’re gone,

I’m merely a spectator,

an admirer,

of your elusiveness.

I’m in the front row of your Houdini act.

When I had my sights set on you,

you looked back at me with a curiosity I cannot forget.

I was gorgonized,

a tibia bone to a bear trap,

but more romantic.

I was stuck,

frozen,

and realized the heart can see what the eyes cannot.

I marveled at the way your soul trickled out of you.

I never wanted to conquer you,

only to keep you.

It wasn’t about capture, but connection.

I wanted you to know that you were free

but also seen,

a bird cutting through clouds

listening to calls

so obviously whistled by man,

that sweet effort to connect,

the futility of desire.

I live in the almost of you,

between affection and absence.

When I had you,

it was like holding onto a sound,

yet you echo within me.

A whiff of you in the air

is a full-body nostalgia.

I miss you incomprehensibly.

I couldn’t pull the trigger against your plans,

and if I had, I would have missed on purpose

to see if you’d run toward me on your own accord.

But you’re free

and chose to be

and that says everything.