When men leave

it’s over
yet again
we learn
how affection fails
and proves that
the smugness you wear
on your face
is easily wiped out
in a warm room
with three minutes
of conversation.
and it’s over.


where have all the men gone?
when men leave our beds
do they ask
‘what else can we wreck
before we go to sleep tonight?’


It isn’t over
he was here
a while ago
and said
it wasn’t working for him.

I said goodbye
And waited for him to leave.

He hasn’t. Yet.


possibilities
do you think it possible
that someone else
will sing your song?

someone else will
make you weep
into your food
every evening?

some other
will make rejection
seem like a rush job
at the end of a
gruelling week?

some other man will
make you sit down
and write this?


and still
I haven’t told him
that the last time
this happened to me
I stood out
And let the cruel rain
Stab my eyes
For a long time.

And still it rains.


best days
the best days
we've left behind
are born
every second
as painful memories


i only asked for more
i asked for nothing
no great sacrifices
building stone walls
out of lust

no memories worn
on sleeves of cloth
woven by weariness

no promises

no hopeful gestures

no found gifts

no expensive lifestyles

no great sorrow

no

i only asked
that i be loved forever

and even that
i cannot have.