Silent Touch

Nature abhors a vacuum—
give my place to someone else.

You only kept on giving...
never once reminded me
that I could give you nothing in return!

Have you noticed
how my writing never
let exuberance break through,
how I never came back to you
wearing a mask?
Yet I remain a failure at life's rules, you know?

In this mesh of rigid conventions...
there's no need for someone as misfit as me.

Those are lies—
I don't know how to love anyone;
still, in the poems I write...
love's intensity never goes to waste.

Don't turn away from me in bed...
I can't bear this hesitation anymore;
you won't touch me,
and the intimate ailments of this body
no longer seek healing.

Forget me...

The living form of this feeling
cannot free me
from the agony of death.