Wound Poem by Valentin Busuioc

I was a nice boy
at the cinema, all the blonde girls
sat next to me
running their fingers through my hair
looking me in the eyes
showing me different ways
to drown my happiness

I did not know you back then
not even a window predicted
that you would start to overwhelm me
with such bitter affection

just a dog
which I still call in my mind
hoping he would come and wag its tail at my feet
that dog was the only one trying to heal me
licking my palm
the fool thinking, just like me,
that the lifeline was a wound