Bye

To leave you, even when I have to go
And we both know it, is an awful wrench.
We have to take it carefully and slow,
But even so, my fists and muscles clench.
I have to wring myself by slow degrees
Out of my own desires to what's best,
Which never means it ever seems to ease,
Or that it's pleasant in this way to wrest
Myself from you, or you away from me:
It is a pain without a pleasant succour.
And all that I can think is how happy
We are together, and how I'm a sucker.
But leaving so has one small consolation:
The sweet reunion after a vacation.