Just opened my eyes. It's eleven forty seven. The waking number. Tuesday is a long, lumbering train finally nearing the midnight depot, thirteen minutes from Wednesday.
Haven't heard from you in days.
I guess you're doing fine.
You're in someone else's arms.
A lovely brunette, a nurse with sleepy eyes, invited me to her place for a drink. Near the Baltimore harbor. We could go for a walk, she said.
No, thank you.
Some other time?
I rented a room for the night. Opened my tablet to write. Planned on spending the entire evening holding your invisible hand, tracing the harbor's edge of our love on paper, a river of memories lapping sensuously and reflecting like colorful city lights on dark waters.
But your palm was cold and clammy. You rolled your eyes and pulled away.
So I crawled into bed and slept for hours, trying not to think about it.
I'm wide awake now, dammit. Empty eyes blinking at a red digital clock. Waiting for Wednesday. Another Wednesday. Dreadfully sober. Somewhere between everything and nothing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem