Diptych

I.

the only way not to love you

is to make myself despise you—

and thus despise myself even more.

to generate white hot anger

and so fool myself into believing

that I no longer love you.

by filling the outer chambers of my heart with rage

and loosening the hold of any tender feelings

I see clearly how much I am still bound to you,

you

who no longer has a use for me,

you

who used me as you saw fit—

and conveniently discarded me

when my expiration date arrived,

you

who did not even replace me with another--

for I never occupied any place

in your heart.

I

who was less than nothing to you--

except for some secret desire

I might service,

one you never shared with me.

you

who took everything I offered

and gave me only enough

to keep me wanting you.

it is over now,

I have expelled you from my heart and barred the door,

I have squeezed you from my consciousness

and purged you from my unconscious

(in last night’s dream your pornographic body

left me cold and I turned my back on you, indifferent)

never again will I waste an ounce of passion on you,

cold indifference is the bedfellow I sleep with now

II.

was it your ambition

will

or ego

that I served—

you never said.

after holding you

for so many years in my heart,

your absence leaves an imprint

that will take many tears to wear away.

it is impervious to the hot flame of anger

whose pure white light

only throws your impression into greater relief.

I am tired

of a love

that always leaves me

never to return,

unwelcome

unsought

unacknowledged.

let me lie down and rest awhile,

this unhappy love has exhausted the best of me