Get me out, you said. Now.
Get me out. The unfamiliar bed
a prison, your body behind bars,
your bright spirit locked away.
I once knew what you meant to say before you said it,
I understood every lift of your eyebrow, every look.
I could read you like a book.
The words play
and play again. As I pay
at a till for milk or bread,
board a train, turn and turn on the pillow
where your head should be
Now, you say
and it slams shut around me, that last day
when I chose not to understand you,
when I tried to keep you, keep you
in my custody, walled in by my will,
when I tried to make you stay.