You don’t need to pretend
you love me anymore.
But kiss me off
as if I were already dead;
I doubt you will make it
to my funeral— someday.
So I need to know, now, how damp
and warm my cheeks will be made
while we say goodbye
in front of this lineup of strangers,
who remove their belts and shoes
so quick and rushed
as we once had in the thrill of love.