I'm not sure if
drinking the poison
of other men is
helping me
dull the burn
of missing
you

if taking the glass of
red elixir to
my lips, holding my nose with a
pinch of my fingers,
closing my eyes, throwing my head back
and hoping the
blackened scorch of
you leaving me is
gone when I open
my eyes
with someone new
is working

I'm not sure
if waking up
with someone else's
pain-filled
core
who has
loves to forget,
hopes to nurse,
people who have
died and left them
behind is
adding to the
graveyard where
thoughts of you are
being pushed so deep
into who I am
and added to the
ground that
I call my body

My life is filled
with tombstones
of you and no other
man has been able
to dig you out
of me.

I don't know how
but I need to say
I am jealous of
every gust of wind
who spends a
moment in time
wrapped around
you

every day on the
calendar who
demands your attention-
a wristwatch that
always finds your
gaze,
you
need it

I have to say
I'm jealous of each
waking moment
that begs your presence
and that I do not
consume your thoughts
like you do
mine

I know you're not happy
and baby,
I'm unhappy too

but the difference is
you can go on without
having me,
but I'm too jealous to
go on without
you.

I tried to
sleep you
out of my
system

but I only
rose to
find that
I'm more
tired
than before
and sickly
missing
you.

The trees are
quietly
changing
with the
turn table's slow
rotation
and
Autumn's tapping
on the window
sill again
"let me in, my
dear.
Forget about the summer
sun who wilt your
pretty petals..."

as the morning chill
is taking
over and
I wake consumed by
my grand
duvet,
I know each day
is further now
from you.

I don't want to be in love anymore.

It's funny that
hands are the
soul's translators-

always moving in ways
to export internal data
into life's shared existence

To fill up space with
the physicality of
ideas and thoughts-
create waves of
deep-body
ocean dreams

here, now, hands click-clacking
to translate a piece of my
well-versed, English-taught,
trying-to-behave-and-get-it-right-
find-its-place­
soul

Look at these little
starfish translators
always trying
to fabricate all that
I am and
know

it's curious to have such
sweet translators of the
soul