Song for a Superior Poet
In Cyrillic font, you typed
for nine years. With hope,
and more desire than I’ve felt,
you typed (through profundity
and mundanity). You wept,
and how I wanted to hold you;
to kiss your cheeks and say
that you’re stronger than me.
In truth, I fear you. I’m still
troubled by your shadow,
and your long-dried cum;
It’s indefensible,
but I’d like to thank
Google Translate
for the posts from 2003
that made me want to be you
when you fucked her clumsily
(now and then),
and pined for her mouth
in absence; and I’d tell you
that I’m ashamed of
the days I don’t touch
her with tenderness
or speak to her kindly.
Then, when I ponder your grief
or the deadness in your eyes,
I’ll crave any dissolution of your pain
and remember your yearnings;
that I may greet your catharsis with joy.
Red Pyramids 
It’s a well-established fact nowadays that people have many romantic partners. It’s almost expected that any man or woman of a particular age will have had several past relationships lasting a few years or more.
When in love, it’s hard to know how to deal with ‘exes’. It’s not that you’ll meet many personally — a few now-platonic friends, mostly — it’s more getting your head around the concept that someone else loved and was loved by the person you now devote yourself to. Those thoughts can provoke jealousy, competitiveness and insecurity, but rarely, for some reason, empathy.
How come? Isn’t it, surely, natural to feel a sense of solidarity with your predecessor? The intimacy shared may be discomforting, but that makes it no less profound.