When pigs spit on you and feed on you like slop in a troth
I will be your bird, coo for me and I will fly to your rescue,
Losing feathers along the way I will land on your finger and sing you hymns
But you don’t crave sweet music, you yearn for screeching and yelping
And I can’t help but love you in tune
Like always, you leave me a sequestered ornithologist
You are my dove and I will always be your pigeon, but the plot plays out more like the Seagull
A Konstantin for your Nina, a constant for your needing, the one I love loves another, and so on and so on
I am tired of crossing oceans for you while you struggle to cross puddles for me
I struggle into a scuba suit while you won’t even put on galoshes for me
You’ll never lie next to me without regret seeping through before the sun shines through the slats of my blinds
but to play devils advocate-what is love if not regret
there’s no point in self pity, it’s poetic justice
You claim I am your mirror, I’d argue your foil
I fear our only resemblance is our tether to romanticizing our own sadness
Clutching the dejection, wringing it dry until it covers the canvas
And what beautiful paintings we’ve made, and what dismal lives we live
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