i had a boner
when you left
which subsided
in the fifteen
minutes it took
to realize you
weren't coming
back.
when i couldn't
write a poem
about you,
i realized what
you'd done.
"you son of a
bitch," i yelled
as i walked into
the bedroom,
where we'd once
made something
of love.
knowing you'd
never hear it.
knowing that,
of everything i
had given away,
you had taken
the few words
i had kept for
myself.
read the following
under a false
pretense:
i am the bird,
you are the plane
that swallows
and hurls me
back to the earth
again,
to discover
myself one
more time.
i have your
memory,
your smile,
and your
silence.
and i intend
on being selfish
with what i
earned.