i remember sitting in your
small room in worcester
a year after our separation
you seemed so timid and tender
and i missed your small hands on my body
the way our long noses fit together
as if the universe had created us
like a puzzle one for the other
you took your guitar into your arms
and played albeniz and bach
gone were the blues of robert johnson
you carefully lifted a record from its sleeve
and reveled in the voice of cleo laine
singing "friendly persuasion"
i was so touched by your evolution
and knew in my heart that
it happened because i left you
took my broken raped tortured soul
and moved to webster
where i wept over your loss for years
remembering your strong hands
and how they loved and healed me
forty years on
i still find myself thinking about
your beautiful french-italian nose
the way you played my body
like you played guitar
with that plaintive love and longing
that continues to make me
a better person
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