I can't become you any more.
It used to be so easy; to fill your large shoes
With my feet, till the toes met the leather.
To slip on your skin with the ease
Of a satin robe. And then I'd feel it,
Shifting gently beneath my own. Delicious.

I'd touch the soft hair of your arms,
Count the moles. Play connect the dots with your pores.
Mine. Your stubble, always surprisingly
Stiff and sharp. Your tongue, always warm.
And the voice that reverberated around the room
As I tested it, as though it might snap
If I dared too much. Deep;

I could wrap myself in that voice if I missed you,
If I felt I might be losing you a little.
And when lonely, I could close the door behind me,
Shut myself into the streets. Already comfortable
In a larger body. And at parties, using your smile.
Dressed in those small teeth

I love. Knowing people held the form in their eyes
That my skin always greeted with warmth.
So tonight, when you have decided
Not to want me, I pick up your hide
From where you left it, hanging on the end of the bed.
And I try to put it on, to zip it up at the spine;

Dead. It won't embrace my form,
It won't grip my hips, my arms. It sags over me,
Cold. And you took the smile,
You took it without asking. And you took the teeth
I love.