You said we need a story
too—all of us do. If only you knew
the truth. You are a sequel
to the one who died
nine years ago. Call me

Lolita once upon a time.

So busy recreating the narrative,
basic needs for water, nutrients, physical
touch become distorted. All narrators
are unreliable—he got killed
off too soon. Do you get the point—

there isn’t one. And I may not mark
my time so fiercely
around you. Each death smacks
of it, then The End
gets misplaced.