By Heart: for Lexi's contest

By heart

What good does it do
to know your face by heart,
to know the curve of your hip
and the scent of your skin
and the lilt of your voice by heart?

What good is there in memory
when it serves only to torment this tortured soul
who can do nothing but recall--
can do nothing much at all--
but long for that
which now exists only in my dreams?
And only in every breath I take
and every word I speak?
And only in every thought I have
day in
day out?

I know my own routine as well
as I know your smile by heart:
Get up, make the bed, hope to die.

By heart I know the sensation
of our interlocking fingers.
By heart I know which ear
you tucked your hair behind
By heart I know which laugh was polite
and which truly touched your spirit.
By heart I know your body
every inch, every curve and response.

I know which drawer contains your brushes
and which your cotton swabs.
I know by heart your walking gait
and the arrangement of your shoes.
I know by heart all there is to know.
And yet, I’ll never again know you.

What good is there in knowing
someone’s heart by heart
when all it does when they are gone
is make you hope that yours soon stops?