in mourning

when I go away,
when you cannot see me the way you used to,
when you wake up one day
and suddenly remember
the feel of my skin against yours,
and the sound of stories -
both told and untold,
lingering between our breaths,
when you feel that sharp stab of metal
moving in one flash,
from front to back,
and in, then out,
when you don't feel the blood pouring out,
but only the remembrance
of how you were touched,
as if you reached a place
you could never have gone to otherwise,
when your tears freeze in their wells,
not knowing what to do,
when you stand transfixed in that pang
that rips your skins apart,
leaving you naked,
looking into a mirror
you did not want to face,
a face staring back at you,
the one without a face now.