the radio
sings only to the
lonely
tonight

songs of halves
of
almosts
and
not
quites
in the international
language
of the dreaming

i, the solitary i
bathe my face
in cool fog
in wishing

i drown my sorrows
in navy sheets
stained
with our past

i celebrate emptiness
with the taste
of never was
and vodka
bitter
on my lips