The Meadow 29 The Last Gifts We Gave Each Other Richard Baldo You stood there as I backed to the door. I am sure you wanted me to remember you this way, still mine. You leaned slightly back, your hip and hands against the top of your desk. Your ex will arrive in twenty minutes to resume his place and take mine. Reconciled, ready to pack your office, to move west, you gave me that naked look of yours, posed in your office tableau. I reconciled myself to close the door on Venus uncovered. I took you in and left you there as the door closed on the slit of eye contact, cut off. You always said you liked the feeling of the wet stream as it runs down the inside of your thigh, the white result of the last goodbye.
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