BEDTIME FOR THE ARCHIMEDES OF YOUR HELL
poem for my friend whose lover left him for mine
You cried in the grass
to the ends of your aura.
End of an era,
her name subtracted from your teeth’s future.
An abyss of stillness
at the speech gates.
Why you ask,
why did she leave you?
She left you
because you were leave-able.
She stopped calling. It seems
another had started writing.
She found the hole
in a different man’s heart
and fell.
He was your friend first!
You loved her more.
He had a name that publicly counted.
She was great at math.
He slipped his hand under
in the dark movie theatre.
She let him.
Let him undress her with eyes
that your hands used to.
His hand used to
shake yours casually
settling into the secrecy of oncoming casualty.
The mess of men.
He kissed her.
You, a silent witness,
a third wheel on their escape car.
She left you
a bandit amongst thieves.
Slipping from dark
alleys of their limbs,
pride wearing a fake moustache,
crawling between their lips
pretending to be breath.
Her lies were turning
the blue of your eyes
against the sea.
Even the stars
became constellational conspiracies,
became white polka dots
on the Devil’s black dress
as it swerved toward you nightly,
surrounding your dumbfound.
After three years
she left you,
a fraction between
the daylight of her mind.
She might
still or never
remember
a digit
of your smile.
You were a wishbone.
Everything was coming true.