Look, read the poem carefully: where you see love’s ink smudging the lines, erase the verse.
you smell bitter, sweet
like the old dried blood on my skirts
like the woman upstairs who stopped bathing
after her lover left her for the maid
like me, back in the days when I pretended
not to care when you treated me
with indifference.
you smell like regret and repentance
and even though I still want you
want your hot breath against my neck
your cold heart beating violently against my chest
I refuse to let love’s ink smudge my verses.
For erasing them will erase the need for
you:
inspiration, muse, Achilles’ heel.