your answering machine or mine?
as if the weeks
were a denatured solvent -
right where we left off
before the mirage
into a swirl
of naked sunlight.
I find the comfort unsettling.
I want my loneliness congratulated.
not once did I consider
complying with the request
until your eyes
your lips
your trembling voice
missing me
missing you.
cursing my need
I dissolve
into my own blood.
can't you hear
the angry raindrops fall?
but tonight you spoke rainbows
tonight I see
only refractions of light
I cannot
and will not

Paul David Mena
30 September, 1993
Albany, NY

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