it’s too hot in this room,
so i’m sitting shirtless,
rubbing sweat from
my brow,
and glancing at
the door you used
to walk through
every so often.
i want a cigarette,
and
i want a drink,
but
i would settle for
seeing your ponytail
move like a metronome
across your weary
shoulders
as you get out
of bed to go
for water
or to use
the bathroom;
i would settle for
the sensation
of seeing your
ponytail leaving,
but returning
this time,
a fallen star
stuck above
the sunken
empires on
your resilient
shoulders
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem