You can tell when she is not there
in my once-per week visitation to a place
where she usually resides,
an icon at the corner
desk illuminated
by the bank of wide
windows
that look out onto the New York skyline,
like a classical statute carved out
of the rarest of
marble,
ignored by most, or
so she claims,
yet whose presence
fills the space
so completely you
noticed when
she's not there,
perhaps it is the sound of her laugh
that's missing or
that pheromone scent
that draws your focus from all else,
an absence so acute it makes me ache
on that one day per week when
i get to share that
same space,
the vacancy I feel
down deep inside me,
a sense of loss I can't quite explain.
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