Token

On intimate nights like this
When the dark steals over us
I feel the injustice of it
Tucked under your chin, taunting
Me with its silent history
And dear aspect. I hate it.
How many times have you said
This is my favorite, said
Hand me my blankie and then
Buried your face in its folds?
How many times have you turned
Over in the night and that—
That other boy’s love token
Has rubbed up against me in
The night, coming between us?
I fear mornings when you tip
Toe to the bathroom, dragging
His ghost with you down the hall.
I wish you’d drag me; I’d watch
You brush your teeth in little
Concentric circles, my love.
And yet one should not resent
Things that have passed in other lives.
I must take you as you are.
I cannot resurrect the shade
And kill him with my own hands.