Always looking back at you
from the other side of the street,
I never really forgot
how to love you.
Running after the same things,
I write to you on the bark of the trees
that bloom in the spring
in front of your house.
In the park, after you leave,
I sit alone on the bench you have rested
and mark the spot
with an X.
I take pictures of your footprints
and put them in frames on the walls of my room.
I walk behind you and inhale
the air that touches your lips.
I carry sandwiches with me, that I eat
at the same time with you, from the distance,
pretending we're on a date.
And for desert I fight the dogs for the bagels you throw.
I light bonfires and wave to you
pretending I'm Robinson Crusoe
and you Europe. I drink for the sole purpose
of having bottles in which to keep my promises.