I. I wanted to write a poem about
magic but my hands kept shaking that
all the lines started resembling your
ex-girlfriend’s crooked teeth. There are
apologies I owe to everyone and one
of them is for you: I am sorry to be the
one that remembers, I am sorry that
I am the one who dreams.


II. Let me tell you how hard it is to love
someone whose body still reeks of the
one he touched before me. Let me tell
you how honesty is a knife I desperately cling to
because I am self-destructive.

III. Darling, I want to kiss you in all the rooms
of your house while drenching the walls
with bleach. I want to exorcise all the
other bodies, the other pairs of lips until
all that remains is me.

IV. I’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve
left me in my dreams. Last night it felt so real
I can almost tell you the color of her wallpaper.
I woke up wanting to poison you
with a vial of my tears.


V. I need to start writing apologies
instead of poems and one of them
is addressed to me: I should have treated
myself kindly. I am terribly sorry
for how long it’s taking me
to let these things go.