I miss you

like the desert
misses the rain.

            I don’t.

I don’t need you.
I bloom on my own.

You are a nice thing to have,
but too much of you
would ruin me.

I am glad you are not around.

Everything we made together,
I have buried
under sandy,
hostile soil.

But I am not barren.
I am not empty.

In me grow flowers,
tough,
            prickly,
                        sweet.

I am glad you are not around,
because you would kill them
like you killed all the others before me
with your absence.

I miss you
like the desert
misses the rain.

            I don’t miss you at all.