Our Doing is Done

Love must be made of salt, like the sea, like sweat.

Something about
wispy clouds
against a morning sky
on a glassy river
makes my mouth salty.

The taste rises
from under my tongue
well before the tears
rise in my eyes.

Love must
be made of salt,
same as the sea,
same as sweat,
same as the taste
I get when I think
of time spent
doing anything 
with you.

That time
is now memories,
our doing is done,
our time is gone.

We squeezed out
what we could,
when we could.

I'm letting go 
of anything else 
we should or would
have done
as that's now gone, 
too.

I promise you
I won't let 
that happen, again,
with anyone!