This is not a love poem
I do not write this in the darkness of
my room, awash with emotions that I,
I do not see those emotions now;
they’re not the crooked hands on
my shoulders, pulling me down,
setting me free.
My heart does not beat along with
every word; fast like the drums and cymbals of that
band last year that didn’t perform in what
is not our favourite bar.
Or like the ta-ta that the rain didn’t make
against our windshield that night.
I’m not turning and tossing on the bed;
the bed isn’t too large, empty.
The wind isn’t cold tonight.
Your thoughts aren’t in my head.
your laughter is gone from my ears.
I do not remember your smile.
You’re all gone from my memory;
gone, like the past. Gone: forever.
I warn you: this is not a love poem.