Revisionist Poetry – “I Love my Baby, My Baby Don’t Love Me… R. Johnson”, v.2

We can sit and stare at each other for hours
and have nothing to say.

We can walk, hand in hand, for miles,
but she won’t make love to me.

We can tell each other of feelings of love —
hers are lodged in the past;
mine live in the present and the future.

We can be together,
and I still feel alone.

We’re terrible for each other,
and yet I love her.
Oh — why do I feel so empty?