I don't know how to write about you without using the word
loss. I open my mouth to talk about our first date and
say it was a blue shirt, with buttons, my favorite, my father's,
I lent it to her and she never gave it back, I know she had it
when I went to her house and asked for it back and then
she moved away and she took it, I know she did and now
she wears it in all of her photos, smiling. The first time
I invited you into my bed becomes I was seven years old
and thought I could surf on the life raft but I went
out too far and the waves started to pull me
further out to sea and I was nearly lost forever
until my father and the lifeguard came out to save me
but there's no father, no lifeguard here now.
I move my pen as if to write "the last time I saw you"
but all that comes out is I've been looking for days
and days and days but cannot seem to find a single
one of my teeth.