To my always never lover

I am cruel and tired

and my breath is dry-

the spit was used long ago

to lick stamps upon letters

sent to your neighbor

(who I have never meant)

in spite, despite of you.

I’m still peeling the candle wax

(a cascade of pink wax and dust)

from my windowsill.

I think the candle smelled of roses

But I can’t recall.

I’ve spent all my matches

to burn your love letters,

ashes and parchment

lifting up into the air

through the hole in the ozone layer

and into space,

clinging to Time Warner’s satellite.

I dreamt of you,

letting your cigarette

burn off into an ashtray

watching the red cinders devour

paper tobacco carcinogens.

Your blue eyes were pink

your hair white

turning you said,

“don’t I look good

an albino?”