Jeremiah started writing his Lamentations
immediately after he read mine,
which he hated.
He saw himself as a mirror
of my former lovers, however shadowy or dated,
somehow they all looked like him.
He saw himself as history, a melancholy footnote,
cast aside into verse.
So he tossed my rhymes behind him
and went inside like the abating ocean
and no new song could call him back,
nor soft skin the color of moonlight,
so lost in the past he doomed himself to repetition
and became a reflection.