If I would just stop craving the sound of your voice, but then

If I could halt the remembering of the taste of your skin, but then

If I might not recall the feel of your hands on my body, but then

If I should ever forget the burn of your touch, but then

If I disinherited the ownership of your sighs, but then

If I were immune to the weight of your promise, but then

my one dear love, where will you stand when my train comes in?
in the dark, I wind my way around the puddles that only yesterday I jumped in with abandon

When thoughts of you arrest me in the day,
I catch my breath like clenching a fist
and stare at some small token in this life
and focus on nothing else until the feeling passes like a ghost
but I don't believe in ghosts

my sole true love, where will you be when the station closes down?
with such snares at night and so many traps in the day, what pitfall for tomorrow waits?

What do I have to guide me, what beacon or map
and will it be there when I stop lamenting my lot?
or will I have finally pushed the compass into a corner
where it can neither be seen nor felt
nor tearfully pried loose?