And this shall be my last goodbye.
Do not leave your door— even your windows,
The leaks in your ceiling open for my voice
Seal your heart for if I come to return to your hands
The pieces of my heart wrapped in your shirt
I shall think of you—the you who loved me—
Now someone distant
Someone as cold as the floodwater that soaks my feet
As I pound on your door when I am again
Homeless in the torrential rains; lost in my longing
And if I come to you like this
Looking for the warmth of your arms
And the embers in your eyes that fired my heart
And many times burned down your untidy room,
Lock your doors and seal your windows
As if my arrival is comparable to thieves of pastries and wines
Of sneaky felines that raid the food on your table
Or the landlady coming to get her rent
And if I arrive at the gate of your house
Seeing from your window the bulbs unlit,
Your doors closed and a salivating dog collared to the doorknob,
I shall know, that the couch would feel terrible
Of receiving my weight
That the spoons and forks would be in disgust
Of my mouth
And your bedroom would flip me out of the windows
If I come without your consent
I shall know by then and it is only the right thing to know
That your heart like mine had bid,
Finally
The coldest and longest
The most prolonged of all farewells
