Absence

On the scales of desire, your absence weighs more

than someone else’s presence, so I say no thanks

to the woman who throws her girdle at my feet,

as I drop a postcard in the mailbox and watch it

throb like a blue heart in the dark. Your eyes

are so green – one of your parents must be

part traffic light. We’re both self-centered,

but the world revolves around us at the same speed.

Last night I tossed and turned inside a thundercloud.

This morning my sheets were covered in pollen.

I remember the long division of Saturday’s

pomegranate, a thousand nebulae in your hair,

as soldiers marched by, dragging big army bags

filled with water balloons, and we passed a lit match,

back and forth, between our lips, under an oak tree

I had absolutely nothing to do with.