Here; Alone and Wanting
you want to want anything other than what you have
i.
everyone in town has secrets
his are the only you want to know
want to hold them in your hands
the way he holds the baby bird
wings broken
it’s first flight unsuccessful
you watch carefully from a safe distance
as he brings the creature to his mouth
he is tender
just as he is when he puts his hand on your arm
sitting together on your front porch
he implies often that he will have to leave soon
and you wish he had wings you could break
make him end his life here
the way you will
ii.
you swim in the cold lake at night
and he can stay underwater longer than you
you’re tempted to hold him down
you want to see his slender body bloated
pictures of his corpse in terrible quality on your small television
for you to mull over as you eat your breakfast
you want to want anything other than what you have
his body beside yours in the bed later on
as you pretend to be asleep
trying to find a flaw in his form
as he pretends to sleep too
pretends to not notice you
iii.
he cooks you breakfast one morning
eggs are already on the table when
you wake up alone in your bed
secretly wishing—
seeing the other side of the bed empty—
that he had finally gone for good
he has only made one plate
he watches you eat—
that angers you
he does not take even a bite—
that angers you
the eggs are delicious—
that angers you
you do not tell him of your anger
you thank him for the food
and on your drive to work
as you turn it over and over in your mind
your anger softens
you fear that softness
but when you return home
and he has already made dinner
you succumb to the softness
and enjoy
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