I've gone stupid now.
I hate that poem I wrote for you
because it contains everything I once had---for you.
All the love I had---for you
and all the pain I suffered---for you.
And I hate that I can't even put it with the rest.
I leave it lonesome, as lonely as you made me feel.
I read it almost every week and feel it all.
I miss you, no,
I miss the love.
I miss those dark eyes that kissed my body to decode the braille.
I miss staring into them and seeing myself, seeing you.
I miss you, yes, but,
I miss the love.
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