A Word of Thanksgiving

This time last year I
held in my arms a complication.
Left standing with my right hand
outstrectched I
found smooth skin
interrupted
by the ring of
another man's
promise.

But they say love conquers all
and eventually there was a man
who wept
while a woman collected her things and
moved them into my
apartment.

In February of 2012 I
arrived to find
my belongings neatly folded
and packed into suitcases
ready to fly south
like birds far away
from the north
and faked love
forgotten.

I wept that day too and
finally what went around
came around
and the difference between I
and the former man of my position
vanished.

History will remember me as a brevity
and she will remember if at all
that one day in November I kept her
fed and warm.

Is it possible to live
without comparing?

"This time last year."

We smoked cigarettes
ate and drank
this time last year,
and we made love
until we fell asleep
intertwined like soft
strands of
yarn.