What I Should Have Known

We always end at an impasse.
I turn into monsters and blocks of ice
and you look askance, waiting, waiting.
We do this now and then;

I remember the grip of your arms,
your hands on mine,
then just the touch of your fingers
on my sleeve,

now just the weight of your gaze,
your unsure smile.

Now that I am not bone
or stone
or earth--

now you let me go.