Made You Up Poem by A Waltz For Zizi

Made You Up



You move across so many of my ribs
with your fingertips, silently.
Leaving me would mean
leaving so many of your memories
behind.
You'd want to be able to return here
to see this room again, to just
play scrabble or chess, or anything.
You know I won't let you be
kind to me a second time, I'm not
that kind of man. I write poems
out of vengeance. I don't really care
about my muses. They glide and disappear
behind this door they keep slamming
when they leave as if I'm the one
that's leaving them. Because I'm a man
they think I don't feel any kind of pain.
Unlike any of them, I suffer like this
on little pieces of paper, sitting on
uncomfortable chairs, playing
their voices in my mind like
they were Chopin's nocturnes.
You stop your hand on the lowest part
of my chest, undecided, but I know
tomorrow I'll have to sit again
on that goddamn chair, this time
playing your voice in my head.

Sunday, July 27, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: love
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