The last time I saw you without the jaws of I.V.s clamped onto your arms,

and without the yellow tinge to your skin,

and without you fading away from me...

The last time I saw you was two months ago,

as I was on the cusp of moving out and moving on.

I dashed into the house to grab my prized possessions

and some pillows that you had been sleeping on in my room.

I hugged and kissed my puppies and they kissed me back.

I told them I loved them, even though I know the words fell away from their fur

and they didn’t care.

And as I got to the door, I paused.

You were staring straight ahead at the T.V. and we’d barely said a word.

I wondered if I should grant you the same courtesy as I did the dogs,

but the bitter and sour part of me,

the one that had pickled in your alcohol for years,

it told me I had nothing to say.

It told me to turn my back on you.

Just leave and hope it stung.

So I did.

I regretted it the moment I closed the door,

But I figured:

I can say it to you the next time I see you.