So this is from my second book.
I'm going to read a sequence of poems.
They all do have titles.
Hi.
I know you're taking-- you're paparazziing.
Just like Lady Gaga saying so many years ago, vintage.
OK.
So, this poem is called, "Coming Over."
What was left of our relationship,
neatly folded on the couch.
And the bathroom noticed what else was missing.
You came into the bathroom, taking out
your razor, your toothbrush.
Leaving my toothbrush.
Replacing everything next to its double
as though I had needlessly doubled.
I walked out from my bathroom, and you
walked into my bathroom.
The little soap and the razor, the duplicates in the bags
not wanting to owe me anything, not wanting to have appeared.
It is like that.
I give my house and you take how you live in it.
Not backwards or forwards, but the past and the present
overcoming one another.