the me not me

the me not me

I.

if they cut off

a part of me

& serve it to me

on a silver platter

my pulse wouldn't waver—

not like remembering

the smell of your lips

after kissing,

the smoothness of your teeth

against my tongue,

the feel of your breathes

against mine,

though you know only

the me not me

& i am bound

by your love

to always be

the me not me:

someone i am not

except the one

you long for,

& i can be only

who you love

because being

the me truly me

i would sacrifice

your devotion

& lose memories

i have yet to know

like a cannibal feast

on a one-man island

II.

i fantasize

about the women you're not—

dark women,

brown-haired

unlike your blonde

& standing underdressed

in the cold of a winter night,

nose & lips chilled

by the wind stirring

through a forest

i can see them clearly

in the bright moonlight,

& i want to feel

the cold nose against mine,

the cold lips against mine—

even the teeth

chattering slightly

& chilled as marble

around my tongue,

but they are not you

they are the you not you,

the you i'll never know,

the you i can never know

or feel or touch or taste—

cold & dark as stone,

distant as the damp, fallen leaves

on the floor of some forest

in the Alaskan tundra,

the place where i am not,

the place i'll never be