"sweet"<<

once
you hung on my words
like i was lighting you from the inside,
infusing the--what?--of you that was cold.
you said "i wish you'd met me when i was better,"
("me, too," my body answered, "when i was warm.")
and so i held your little boy head,
wanting to nurse you back to your self,
thinking "how generous!"--of you, I meant--
but I was pretty lethargic myself, or at least
that's my excuse for not sensing
that with you there was always
something substantial
missing
and that it was wrong
that our moments of soft transcendence were
still not enough for you.
how could I have convinced myself that your
empty insinuations were
my responsibility
I may have been little-girl-frightened, but you--with all your
thoughtless lack of patience, with your"love"less Choice--are the one
mistaken.
(see, I've got this angry bit all played out)
until I Remember that once, one night when
I had no other place to spill my desperation
but to the sidewalk,
you listened to me. and Answered.

maybe the veracity of that one evening explains
why I go back to your image
and clutch at empty space, unable to ever
discern
what faint, indefinable part of me really loved
what ethereal, indecipherable part of you.
all (as usual) wasted contemplation:
Now
you are silent
when I speak to you.

and I hear that first night's confession: "sooner or later,
they find me disappointing"--
I told you before.
With me, you wouldn't have had to
worry.