by Christos Polydorou

The day was so short, as short
as a mini skirt, I was feeling its
thighs squeezing the lies
out of my head, the ones you
said, I said, because we were
so scared of getting hurt
again. We hurt each other’s
feelings, and yet we come
back for more, we keep
on trying, with the same
person, over and over,

or with a different person
over and over again. The
one after fills the blind spot
of the one before, this one
expresses what that one
couldn’t, this one provides
the beginning, the next
one, the middle, and then
the final one, the end, as
though love itself could
not be outwitted, could
not be reduced into a single