Ex Communication

I lace my food with love
and if, once it’s all laid out
and steaming pleasantly delicious
I realise : I made dinner for two.
Laid a place for a stranger who
hasn’t come into my life yet or maybe
the half of my heart that left me in debt
and aching for the past. But there’s drink
for two, too. And it’ll saturate the vacuum
more than any human could, would, has.
And after years of recycling the possibility of
‘the one’, I swear to god : I’m fucking done.
For the past month I’ve been looking for some
reason you left, but rule of thumb
seems to be : the mirage will leave just
as soon as it comes.


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