I could be better
or more soggy,
greater or milder
and perhaps even lower,
but not you-and what hurts you-
we're easy to forget
like a train in the distance
-there I put too little coal;
because my hands do not keep anything.
I didn’t just deceive myself
-because you're not me.
when I know that you look in the mirror
and see me, hungry and ragged,
abandoned on the way between home and work;
probably that’s why it failed,
just some bits are left pure, -
you had enough of the gray face.