You Said It Was Simple to Love Me

I stared out the window behind you
at dying birch trees while we sat

in a half empty cafeteria, talking
about the parts of ourselves we would

lose to each other. I rearranged
pieces of brown rice, left on the table

by the diners before us, playing out
our scenario. You still taste sour to me

like cherry stems tied with tongues, a feeble
attempt to knot us together. I ask myself

if I could I bring myself to love you,
a fabrication with hair like long needle

pine straw and skin made from moth wings,
a monster because you can love me.