They say to love
you must first love yourself
for without that you
have no foundation to build.

Which is to say my love is sacrilegious
for the hollow within me
has always remained hollow
but I have not stopped loving.

I have loved the misty rivers
on the cool mornings before the sun.
I have loved the turning of pages
and things laying upon them.

And for what is worth I loved her
even if it was only for a moment,
even if it was a mistake,
don’t you dare call it phantom.

My love is a blanket even if
I have not yet learned
how to fold myself in it
It is still real.

I still bathe it in the river
I still call it mine even though
I do not consume its fruits,
its flesh is not plastic.

One day I may fill what is mine to fill,
but til then I will not stop
with what you call “unholy loving”
because it is all I know how to do.