“I’m gonna’ miss you like a child misses their blanket” Fergie says.
That’s about right,
how I loved you.

sans reason, logic, judgment
some natural affinity in the beginning of course, and affinity
even still
some esteem interest desire of course
I’m not an animal

but maybe careless, maybe a child, blanket in hand
an instinctive turning toward warmth

once comforted,

dropped forgotten

like a blanket or like
nicotine scotch cocaine

addicted no longer to pleasure, fulfillment
but to adequacy,
maintenance
want you even when I
have you

but you turn out in the end, disappointingly,
to be . . .

a person

requiring something of me and so
I am forced to
decline your
offer of sustenance
but just
barely and
sometimes I am still a child, a junkie, and in my dreams I find satisfaction
but it’s never you.