I love you only in French
6 days together
lying in a cheap hotel room while lying to each other.
Its something about a desperation to connect
that drives two zombies together
Or maybe its the sex.
I send you messages in French;
I write them on paper towels and mail them to you to express my condition.
You can't relate.
You know I do not speak French
and my continued existence irritates you so
I slink off into a quiet corner where I only have to be concerned with myself.
I'm confused and elated.
I walk in ovals and make sudden sharp turns.
Nothing I do makes sense anymore.
You say its the medication;
I say its perpetual calm.
I haven't felt a thing in a year.
I keep thinking maybe I have lost something that belongs only to me.
Sometimes I see glimpses of it and ignore it.
I am alone.
I miss the way you looked at me in the dark
even though you meant nothing at all.
French is the only way I loved you
and I lied.
