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.