In the Wednesday sun
crossing Farragut Square
beside a beautiful woman
of half-developed feelings,
there is a temptation
to forget thirty-eight years
of women just like her.

All my romances
are desperate tries
to close the old voids
that my family seeded in me.
Love me,
accept me,
stay,
please stay,
just stay,
I will take anything,
be any shape,
anything you like.

I loved women
one to the next
a wreath of sincerity.
I was always astonished
when it fell apart.

In the Wednesday sun
I am depressed.
I say goodbye
to my blonde friend,
and I curl up inside
like paper burning.