If I Were a Poet

Earth is an unfaithful lover.
When I was young and beautiful,
she fawned over me,
showering me with
daily gifts and midnight phone calls:
“Hi, it’s me, Earth,
just thinking of you.”
Notes hidden in lunchboxes, like
“See you at 3 behind the school”
written in the secret language
of seismic waves.

But then
someone younger, more beautiful,
came along, and
the phone went silent.
The note in the lunchbox said
“Sorry, it’s not you; it’s me,”
signed “your ex-Earth.”

Well, Earth, I have a confession:
I’ve already found someone else.
Because while you were cheating on me,
I was having an affair with Heaven.
Now on the other side of death
there’s a world madly in love with me,
who calls me every night,
who welcomes me into her bed
and will never let me go.