I am far too old for you, and more mature
by a million miles. I roll my eyes at you

more than I do at my drunken mother
and that's really something to take note of.

Every word you say prints itself on my brain,
though it's all *******, it's vital to me.

Half needing you, half hating you, half
myself I have left half of me behind somewhere

like a handbag on the train, with half my soul
and not my last fifty cents and my make up bag

and not dried up mascara, but all of my sense -
left it behind, let it fly far away.

I float in my ignorance.