For Britannia

I long for you.
I long for your touch and your whispering lips.
I long for those nights we spent drinking
And singing
And making love.

I divorced you.
Thinking that my life was missing something
I threw away us, and our family, and our house;
And one month later you moved in with another man.
One fucking month
Before that bloody Yank was putting the blocks to you.
Shit! Maird! Scheize!
All your crying
And begging
And pleading
Must have been really god damned sincere
Since it took you a whole fucking month to get over me.

I heard today
About your diagnosis.
I desperately want to hold you
And kiss your forehead
And tell you that I love you.

But he is doing that now,
In a different house
In a different life
With a different family.
I hope you get what you deserve.

I will not call you,
Or send a card,
Or tell you that I know.
But after you die
I will visit your grave
And lean my flowers against your headstone.