i seek solace in doorjambs
cold, hard, flat against the cheekbones
strong enough to hold up the weight of the heaviness in the chest
but just too small to hide the face

i try to fit myself in
pressing the flesh into the moulding

you fall away
and i turn from you
leave you resting
while i
without so much as a breath
walk out of the room

walk into the kitchen
and fall against the doorjamb

pressing all my energy into the wood
knowing it can and will absorb me

here it smells of me
and not of you

and the only way you’d know
(but you wouldn’t notice, would you?)

a faint whiff of musk

the slightest glistening in a doorjamb

as you lean down
and pick up your suitcase