when you tell me that my love for him
is just a homunculus that i create
i stop enjoying my after dinner drink
and for the first time feel source of your hate

i think of you always now at some event
a very small man grown from a sperm
your limbs, familiar, waving gray-green
your hair, pinched into a regressive tip

i no longer want to share my idea of love
with its one clean voice of promise
i cannot explain what i ever saw in you
suspended above your head in a thin glass ball

one day when you want to remember your life
you will pull mine from under your black shelf
and try to hold the last of me in your hands
the me, before you broke the magic like a bar glass