I wish you were feeling my collarbones –
instead of me, caressing myself in a diagonal chair –
one leg about to snap, the other, broken;
and i’m wondering if i should cut my hair.
I’m wondering what it will be like in the Andes without you as my mountain –
that is, if the Andes actually surmount you,
i asked you when the love lessened, and you said it did just when you said it.
why do we have to stop loving each other?
why do you have to break it off and break my visions,
what feels like breaking my bones, my
is it to keep yourself from breaking?
and i told you i would be there if your back broke —
you were the one
who directed the fall.
Now it is Fall and you are leaving!
why do we have to stop loving