When I had/ No lover I courted my sleep.
R Pinsky


What do you say? I'm so sorry, but this body moves on alone. My flesh is in mourning. It isn't you-- I don't even see you. I'm sorry; but I don't regret the ways we aren't touching. I never want to touch you like that. You say something:

The neighbors argue loudly. Long day keeps me away from the things I need to be doing. A dog sneezes on the corner of rue St Maur and Oberkampf, the florist has put lilacs and snapdragons on the sidewalk, I feel my tired face twist into a smile, but somewhere behind my eyes two hands are clapped over the light and squeeze their fingers together to keep all but a few slips from escaping. Drawn.

At musée Quai Branly, the dresses hang two dimentionally. The masks mock all comers.

I won't hold your hand. I won't go to your house. There is the heavy weight of me haunting myself that I cannot throw off. (That is not bad weight, I just need to learn to carry it. You understand.)

When I refused/ All lovers I courted myself.