præ dolore dolor est

for c.
because i miss you
more than usual tonight.

there is something painful
in the recollection of i love yous
said and unsaid,

an exquisite agony
that somehow coats my ribs
in mother-of-pearl and my heart
in gold.

the world says that i
am more beautiful
for having loved you
in the new moon's night,

but reason says this ache
is not to be desired
and i am a goddamn fool
for having ever loved.

i wish i could see your face
in the glowing constellations,
but i survive on smog
and forgetfulness.

i do wish it worked.
but it doesn't.