I might not know a starling from
a mockingbird, but you don't know this:
Sometimes the sound of your voice
makes me want to eat cigarettes.
Eat and chew and show you
the crunched contents of my mouth.
Be flattered. You're foolish to think
I don't love you, to believe
this is replaceable. Addiction:
Is it really so wrong? Do I smell bad?
Consider being considerate,
for once. If love takes time,
what does time take? More
time? An empty suitcase?
Yes, and a hotel room
and a cheap alarm clock in my ear
that only turns on when I sleep.
Wake up! You torture me.
So spare us, dismiss me. We
are rotting, with the broken
umbrella under this sour porch.
I wanted you to call when you didn't,
you called when I didn't want you.
Go ahead, blame me, tell my mother--
it's all the same. But when it passes,
think of the silence in your absence.
Think of that candle, sex molten pulse
on our bedside table, snuffed
in its prime. I'm fine if you are.
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