Let’s start from the ending because with you everything is illogical. Only grey wolves and pumas and other howling mammals could interpret your sobs. The look of betrayal and defeat and babe-dom, as if the tears had siphoned the age out of you. Last hours spent on your stomach, away from me, facing the window and final gulps of nighttime summer vapors. I’ve never kissed sadness before. Now I can’t think about you unless my mouth is clean.

My capacity to feel is often blinding.