every weekend,
she leaves me
for him,
"Howard".
then returns
to the world
without poems.
ask me how to live
and I will tell you,
just as I try to tell her.
not sure if she listens.
it's a weird
"relationship",
but better than
nada.
trace my mind in circles
of blame.
laying awake,
wondering
where
she sleeps.
I need her
more than
she needs me
in certain dreams.
weekday nights
have been alright.
all the calls
and the awkward British accents
providing laughter.
lately,
the difference
is as big as a
lifetime.
between the payback and the pawn,
I am the uncompleted me and she is the she.