On the Death of a Secret Lover

I open my mouth to let
the part of him that is in me go
where it needs to.
It flows from my toes and groin
through the chakras
In, out, with my breath,
in both directions,
in all directions.

The corners of my mouth dry,
my tongue searches.
Is it a scream, a moan, a hymn, a murmur of
the wind in pine trees
that hover silently near my lips?

I want to tell the world
that we were connected,
that he changed my life,
me, everything.
That even after twenty-three years of silence
the broken connection
bleeds.

There are hundreds like you,
you have no claim on him.

It isn’t a claim.
Just love.