Cut off my limbs, torn out my heart –
no it feels worse, a toothache rotting into bone.
Alone, a borrowed dog, a caged blue bird and me.
You should not, but you do: you kindly fade away,
so out of reach, beyond control,
your legacy keeps changing colours.
Sometimes I think you spoke
of love in Spanish.
I need to grow new arms, new legs, new memories,
become a newer creature.
Apart from you I’m not myself it seems.