You asked me who I was. I told you I was a water fountain always going up to fall back down on myself.
I imagined your love was like my battered pores—always opening and closing.
Indifference, should it be this way? Better then broken. Are we really like goldfish? That will die and be replaced.
Should I have asked for your forgiveness? For I wanted that time as my great trial of love.
While you were away in science fiction…
I sat on those hard concrete steps…wore all black…twisted my rings.
Around 10:00 p.m. I had to sit on my hands to stop the urge to dig.
If you only met me back on that fiery October night; the dying of the red would never had started.
I nearly forgot you but when midwinter drew near, you left me in a way I thought I could never forgive myself for.
I was enticing like Helen, and I’m still drinking from that nepenthe cup. But the memories still abides in this numerical numbness.
Poem: Naomi Ruth
Monkey Cup image: Pinterest