Love made lasagna in the basement
with an oven that barely worked.
Love was determined to prove something.

It’s funny I don’t remember eating it –
maybe we got pizza instead.

She said baby I still love you
it’s just that I’ve found someone new.

I liked the way her broken voice went down
her eyes scouring the ground.

I remember that earthquake in the West;
an entire overpass fell on a car and made
it four inches tall for the rest of time.

I mistook her dime-store heart
for a thing that I could take apart
and put together good as new.

A perfectly unknown fruit to taste
leaked pools of blood so hot
that the November steam I faced
made me cough and slip on leaves.

Be still, she said and looked at me
and gave me a picture of herself.

You are all I used to have, she said
take this, pretend that I am dead.