Still

So, there is still a part of me

you can touch

without being here

or even thinking of me.

I want everything to be

completely magical

without you.

That’s the only way I can

stand it, the weight

of all the years

we spent together.

So, I found someone

almost magical enough.

but you see.

There are still stains

on the carpet, and

nights spent

watching TV on the couch.

And that’s where you get me.

Still, still a year and a half

later the fleshy parts of me

are bruised.

And when I hear of you

I feel again the dull pain,

just a slip of the invisible hand.

The fingers plying at the places

you once touched

so often.