seeing yourself pressed naked
against a window, remembering
everything that you love
is not sad so much as it is
exhausting.

you had asked me why
i wrote sad poems, almost
like you knew the answer.

it made me think about
how exhausting it was
to be near you.
how ******* you left
a bitter taste
in my mouth.

and, in yours, too,
if we're still
being honest.

i threw a ***** towel at you,
after we had finished it.
you said,
"i'm exhausted."

i thought about how sad
you really must have
been.