The water you last drank from
remains
by my bed.
I will leave it there
as I let go of you
over this next season of my life.
It will evaporate,
turn to air,
and travel very far from here
over the next million years.
And that was
always going to happen to us
as well.
Though it was quite miraculous
how the infinite configurations
placed us together in this
infinite ocean,
soul to soul,
body to body,
soft skin lain on soft skin
in morning sunshine,
vaporous breathing to the
heavens
where once upon a time
you had reached for
that water you last drank from
for the final time
in the aftermath of something,
something riveting, tumultuous,
healing, and laid bare for
the other to see.
I see now and look over at
what will be gone soon,
what will be gone as Autumn
and the hearth fires start up
again.
novamartinpoetry.com 
As I type this, there’s a half-full glass of water in front of my microwave. My 8yo left it here on an unplanned visit a couple days ago, and Ihave left it there as a sweet little reminder of the feeling of his physical presence.
This poem, and the two more recent ones you have posted, are hitting me right where I live right now. I am so grateful.
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Oh Deborah, that is so meaningful to know that my pieces resonate with you right now. Half the time I assume my writing just comes across as bespoke or crazy or unrelatable. But I write to be real and authentic nonetheless cuz I think the world needs that… especially from women (whom are conditioned to think and act they must behave in “appropriate” ways). I send you hugs 💕
N✨
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