Andre goes back to the restaurant, this time without you

by Christos Polydorou

Extra heartbreak in my
welcome beverage, please.
I’ll begin with a
pair of broken eyes.
I’ll continue with a set of ribs
with the marrow unwoven from them.
For my main dish, I’ll take a heart,
stuffed with grana padano.
Milk to make me sleep.
History rests hysterically
on my third eye tonight.
Why me? is a question reserved
for the blades of grass,
the smooth stones in the river.
Throw me off a cliff of social niceties
and watch me rise ever so luckily,
to the surface.
For desert I’ll take the future, fondant.
And for my post dinner aperitif,
a coffee cup filled with bitterness.
My loneliness
is a tablecloth.
You are present,
and I am not.
I am sick of thinking
about you.
I am tired of myself
neglecting myself.
This is love? The total
annihilation of myself?
Written on the stones. Written on the skin.
Written on bones so old they
need an immediate new dance.
It is a spot we hate.
We mark it with an X.
Then throw our dart.
Thank you for the chocolate mint,
you were an excellent waiter tonight,
here is your tip.
Thank you for helping me put on
my long coat, it
is still a bit chilly out there.

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