You’re leaving me behind, subtly,
quietly, methodically, as simply
as putting down a book you’ve finished.
I wonder what will become of you
without me, will you be beautiful
without my constant eyes on you?
Will you dissolve into existence
as other things that don’t belong to me?
And when I talk of beauty in the future
will you be excluded from the idea
as immaterial things are excluded from the Universe?
