Dear beloved,
Spring birds sing outside and my heart bursts in
bloom,
as it bursts with this black tar
disease, as I am sick of rummaging through your old letters
trying to find where in your words is the difference between her and I,
where is it that you love her more and me, less.
You, dearest, are forever the owner of my
undying devotion,
of this
undying obsession,
you are forever the owner of all the
madness-filled pages I have written
of all these hateful words
you are the owner of this
phantom that keeps appearing to me
whispering the words of desire you gave her
that I have never even imagined I could be a recipient of.
My love, I wish to look at your
beautiful eyes every day until I
cease,
even if you don't look back
even if we fuck and
you close your eyes thinking of making love to her for one last time
even if you touch me just for the sake of
feeling alive
just for the sake of penetration
just for the sake of
owning a body
you don't even want.
My mind is unable of evoking a thought that is not you, adored one,
that is not you and her,
your hands on her face,
your kisses trying to consume her,
desire for her that can only be mirrored to my own desire for you.
Sometimes I wish I were entirely oblivious
capable only of responding to your commands
like a dog does its master.
Beloved, you will be arriving soon
and I will be waiting still, quietly
ready to sleep at your feet,
como un perro a tus plantas.