My hopes have all retreated to the place
where they were hidden well before you came:
before I knew the beauty of your face,
before I felt the softness of your name.
The place is small; my hopes fit in it well
along with my desires and my dreams;
outside of it, a spacious living hell
has blossomed in the world, or so it seems.
At night I curl as tightly as I can
into a ball of weak, defeated flesh,
protectively enveloping the man
with whom you used to warmly inter-mesh.
The end of my defense is where I start
to fortify that little place, my heart.