You say I remind you of someone you used to know. You say you know me from another place.
You say we met in another life. Before the wars. You say we fell in love on an island made of white and blue buildings—an island where tomatoes grew like weeds. You were a baker. I was pretending to be a poet.
It didn’t work out of course. Greek love rarely does. But one never forgets warm bread and Mediterranean mornings.
I remind you of someone? Let me tell you what this means: it means you’re lazy and you’re lonely.
You’re a rabbit on the tracks. The sun is warm. It feels like love. The rails rattle and hum. If you’re not careful, they’ll lull you to sleep. If you’re not careful, you’ll be there when real love arrives and knocks off your shoes and rips your rabbit ribcage apart.