Love poems worn out by my cynicism,
Four biographies and an Oscar Wilde.
Éluard and a few dead gods —
All my books
Beaten, thrown to the ground.
For a while, I am done
Revisiting lines I know way too well
After sleepless nights and paper cuts.
My fingerprint-memories are on every page
I’d ask you for verses, but you’re out
Under the lights of an unknown realm
Enjoying all the things I’ve taught myself
How to hate
After a dream or two, in the morning,
Write me a poem about anything you like
Before I lie and say
I didn’t even miss you tonight