I do not regret the days

I spent loving you in her absence.

I do not regret your tempered touches

as you searched for her skin under my scales

or the way your eyes reflected 

her sharp chin and freckled chest

when they fell on my frame.

I do not regret the temporal space we created,

these morning gestures

i
n the folds of sheet and flesh.

Tending your wounds with tongue and time.

You found solace with your elbows on my table,

your dirty feet in my bed,

but I knew you would exit

on your own side to look out the south facing window.

She was ever present

upon the waves of your thoughts.

Your ears keen for her voice,

but I heard it first,

soft as the buzz of bumble bees on the beach,

calling you home.

I do not regret returning

to a solitary balcony

above the ocean’s turning point,

or slipping inside my bed,

still warm in your place.

So as you kiss my hands

in gratitude of my hospitality,

don’t leave thinking,

I am emptied.

I gave what I wanted,

no more,

no less.