fake fingernails. Label them emotions.

Seal them in an envelope.

Cyber-stalk -----. Note how many hits

his name gets. Eat that many single

edamame while drinking cheap, refrigerated sake.

Send a check for his mini-bar tab, or,

if you have no money, attend a Quaker meeting.

Talk, the entire hour, about his light within.

Read his books.

If, due to guilt and/or depression (a wasted chance,

what might have been), you cannot read

his books, familiarize yourself with

the space they take up on your shelves. Imagine you are

square and paper, dry and thin, you slide so easily

in next to them.

Visit every tavern, within a ten block radius, of the hotel

room where you didn’t hook up. Shout, “I remember

your name,” after each Stella you down.

Hire 2 over-the-hill hookers to beseech him for a threesome.

Write something, anything. Tear open the fingernail

envelope and put your words in w/ them. Duct tape the damn thing

shut.  Pin it to your hairshirt, and, if you ever get lost,

give it up to the nearest stranger in care of -----.