Wednesday Morning

In the Wednesday sun

crossing Farragut Square

beside a beautiful woman

of half-developed feelings,

there is a temptation

to forget thirty-eight years

of women just like her.

All my romances

are desperate tries

to close the old voids

that my family seeded in me.

Love me,

accept me,

stay,

please stay,

just stay,

I will take anything,

be any shape,

anything you like.

I loved women

one to the next

a wreath of sincerity.

I was always astonished

when it fell apart.

In the Wednesday sun

I am depressed.

I say goodbye

to my blonde friend,

and I curl up inside

like paper burning.