unwelcomed return
     you make of yourself, a gift     
     to silently present 
            you to me
            me to you 
                             as if we had never met.
                             (and I wonder if I want you back)
     wrapped, with 
     a black satin ribbon
          -you could do better than that-
     the poet inside knows 
         that satin
         and black
         are cliche,
     but the fabric store
     had nothing else
     in the form of ribbons
         and the grizzled old owner
         a creased face man
         in tweed jacket
         and crumple cardboard hat
         has biases 
         against dolls
         that move and speak
         on their own accord
     you shock me
     you impress me
     to wrap yourself up
     as if I had wronged you
     or myself for that matter
       and we embrace with tears
     So glad to see you
     my mind is a camera obscura: 
           focused to a pinhole 
           set in the future  
           on how you will leave me again.         

The East Village Poetry Web
Matt Levy