Let’s face it; there is much to gripe about.
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She Slipped Out Sometime in the Night (A Poem)

She Slipped Out Sometime in the Night

Even if she ends up coming back
(which I’m doubting) this time
I wont forget the sting or the lurid
graphic images her absence conjured

the teeth, the spit, the claws,
the pounding hearts,
the violent rush of hot blood,
the final spurt,    and exhale

It’s growing more gray outside
a front of cold soaking imminent
a fading light on this day spent
lost without her    lost

though I’ll leave a light on
and a bowl full outside for her
it’s that last detail that points
and jabs    another loss

there’s no solace in the facts
the lesson bears no repeating
my pain hasn’t even sunk in yet
and I’m already writing poems about her