Saturday, April 28, 2012

One Year

It never would have worked.

You hate limes. You sleep with
one sock on. You dislike modern
art and Les Fleurs du Mal and you
were only so-so on Sufjan.

You never noticed what I wore,
what perfume I put on, if my
hair fell differently. You didn't
read Invisible Cities even though
you had it for five months.

You fought dirty, always wrapping
your words in barbed wire. You
like the Harry Potter films more
than the books. You run at 4am.

Who runs at 4am?

And whenever I'd lean over, you'd spread out,
taking up every inch of warm space under
the sheets and laughing when I'd kick you
and try to take it back again.

It never would have worked.

Though once in a while, I'll find
an orphaned sock under the bed,
a freckle of you,
left behind,
and I think,

what I wouldn't give
to have tired of you.

1 comment:

  1. The end of this poem is great!

    I do have one issue earlier on. I don't love the "who runs at 4 AM?" line. I think that concept is already in the text (especially coupled with the Harry potter line also in that stanza) and I feel the repetition there makes the poem a bit herky-jerky in the middle.

    All around though it is great.