an Altar

Would that I could
build an altar to this pain
because you see-

this is the only way I have now
to quantify how I loved you

I cannot express in caresses,
or kisses,
or shared meals and secret jokes

To set this mourning free
is the only sane recourse

Swallowing and choking
disillusionment, like bile,
serves no one

It is, in fact, a true disservice
to how much we were

An altar could not contain the whole story,
nor could it atone
for the pages left blank,
but it would be a monument
to read quietly again and again
nonetheless

Yet altars are static, unrelenting
and we are nimble creatures

Understanding that pains recedes
is not the same as believing it, though