It was a piece of me
and then you took it
not a gift
but an unconscious surrender.
It must have been while we were sleeping
or laughing over subway platforms.
Cavernously my body aches for it
like skin for a familiar sweater
the hush of cotton
just as it remembers.
And how easy it remembers
the warmth between old friends.
But we were more than friends
and that is how you robbed me.
Love is not an arrow but a chisel
chipping away at my soul
Scattered marble on the floor
celebrates the man that you made.