Winter came and went
and I turned twenty-nine
yet again-
Still no word from you.
That makes three years
since your phone died,
or maybe the cat got
your tongue.
You packed up and
walked away.
Your belongings
crammed into that
ridiculous vaudeville
looking suitcase-
Misplaced and semi-forgotten,
your shelf life long since died.
I used to look for you in
all the obvious places.
Under the bed, the junk drawer,
even between the cushions of
my sofa.
All a waste of time-
I hang on to senility now,
Pretending I can't even remember
your name.
To me you are just-
heartless.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem