loose threads

i hate goodbyes —
that is to say,
a canyon opens between my ribs,
a river nourishing all that creeps, swims,
and sways in the gentle breeze
of your absence
transverses the length of my spine
caressing careless boulders
to cascade over this lip of time
that we do not touch

-rjm

prompt: the poem i left in your backseat
theconstantpoet