Our Weekend Visits

This is the third one since 

you left last Fall and sometimes 

I have to remind myself 

I was the one who asked you to 

go, as I sometimes have waited 

forlornly for your text or call 

like a teenager with a crush or the 

pathetic character in the movie 

“He’s Just Not that Into You”

I am an idiot, and yet I also know 

it’s true, that you love me

For you drive the 2+ hours too 

meeting up half-way at the hotel

where I earn points, where we find 

our passion for each other’s 

physical presence is a torrent

which once was a trickle, but only 

because of prolonged absence and so 

perhaps this separation is working 

some magic, at least on that level

And we go to dinners where 

you don’t drink along with 

me, sleep in a temporary 

bed where I barely sleep 

eat waffles from the free 

breakfast bar in the morning

take walks before parting 

Our weekend visits go by so fast 

this relationship, our lives though 

arguably quite lengthy, still 

seem so achingly brief

Making the drive back and once I get 

near home I have this one obsessive 

thought, my incantation of grief: 

you’re supposed to be here, 

you’re supposed to be here, 

you’re supposed to be here.