Dear Elsa,

I fear the westerly winds have stolen your scent.

I no longer find your face in our favorite places.

Your palm prints on my skin have faded with each of her kisses.

The poison has reached my bones – 

I barely recall the tom-tom beat of your heart.

She’s too thorough; she saw tearstains on the sheets

And switched the Egyptian cotton to Chinese silk.

Last night I had the nightmare, remember? The one where

I fall and fall and fall, hurled by some formless creature 
Of the dark. Drawing the breaths of a drowning man,

I woke with my head clasped to her chest –

I had her name on my tongue.