our goodbye was of mutual understanding
empty platitudes, the tips of our fingers touch
brushing by one another, static in my ears
a word that has no weight to it
the way the guillotine blade has no weight
when it free falls at the toll of church bells:
"goodbye, hannibal."

like the blade the fall of his mask severs
something that had tried desperately to blossom
between us that only in another life would bloom and bear rotten fruit. bitter, i am, knowing the curtain
has closed, but as he leans in to smell my horrible
aftershave i dread the infinality of what is and will always be, "just words":
"goodbye, will."