September bird

Thank you for finding me

when you did. I started to

doubt your existence.

You’re not real, I whisper.

I can’t see you in front of me

behind me

on top of me

under me

in all the places you said you’d be.

I listen too closely to lies.

It feels as if death is here

to see you four times in forty years.

The Universe plays tricks

on soul mates. It promises

meeting places then always

falls through

cracks of miscommunication

too much information.

I meant to stay longer five years ago

but you would have fed off

my loneliness like grapes

during sex.

I meant to kiss you back

but I’m married.

I’m faithful to faith

and where is the path?

The crescent moon and pink sky

is so forgiving of me.

Reliable.

Loyal.

Ever present.

I’m too patient, too forgiving.

I want to hate you

but I won’t. Ever.

I want to love you

but I can’t. Never.

So I shall read A Thousand Nights

and ponder how poets

lament on birds and cocks.

Thanks again for your patience.

I don’t deserve it.

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