are an idiot
to have had her,
to willingly fight her,
to call her mistakes
crimes, and you
the victim,
you, whose only wrong
was having committed
your soul (you say)
to this contract
you once thought
God had written for you.
listen, idiot, the term
"soul mates" applied
to only Adam and Eve.
your ribs are fit
for no body, your
breath too shallow,
your heart too
scarce to share.
her words, far far
superior to yours,
her mind with sunlight
(spoiled, you say,
though i think
your green tongue
is more jealous
than hurt), scolding rain,
and freakish hail,
is of more substance
than your always
overcast, always
just so.
and you,
more bitter than
Chinese medicinal soups,
can replace two
older than old bachelors,
regretful, and bitching
about who had more
when they were young
when the grass still grew,
and the girls still saved
(though they loved
to break the banks).
you, (you know
you're sorry,)
already running out
of fond memories
and new opportunities,
thinking, maybe,
you should let yourself wish
that the past would replay.
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