After Marina Tsvetaeva

like I say I’m in love with our unlovesickness,

with these feet never flitted out from under us.

how sweet to run my fool mouth, how sweet at each

accidental touch, the firelessness in my cheek.

I like that what hurts my heart is not you,

I like that what hurts your heart is not me.

that you can hook up with someone, or look at them,

and feel, at my no pain, no pain of your very own.

I love how what lives in my breast is mine,

how yours beats hardest and best within yours.

I love the word at your lips that’s not my name,

the void where no vow of ours ever flowers.

for nothing by moonlight, little by starlight, for dawns 

that draw far more than our limbs in fire, and for light I light 

solely in dreams, to you I'm unindebted, irredeemably.

for you are not, I am not, my heart’s, your heart’s, hurt.