She held up another of my poems, and demanded, “How much is this?”
I said, “In exchange I will take nothing but your heart, yes even for this.”

She says she hid her jealousy from me. Meanwhile wise men
Report of supernova to be seen burning up her skies. Like this.
She says I purposefully ignore her at times, mesmerized by others.
See her wounds? I am a sick man watching butterflies to forget this.
She says she is not sure if I can feel her soul through her body.
Am I then a worm going for the kernel through flesh, like this?
She says I am a burden who is anchoring her down with earthly love.
Not knowing painful hunger like me, she doesn’t give thanks for this.
If people dropping by for a drink ask you, “Why is Sashi becoming so pale?”
Tell them pieces of me are strewn on the grass for her sun to see. Even this.




My Poems