I think about you
I think about your small hands
Anchored on my puffed out chest
And how we said “never again”
Again and again
You retreated in my hesitation after you asked
“What’s your favourite thing about me?”
Well, it’s the mess I make with your hair,
The way your breasts fall when I won’t let you up,
Your owl eyes and innocent stare
I have been trawling through the wreckage and
These are the last embers of that firestorm.
Like footage after a robbery, she still has photographs of us
I surrendered the receipt to those digitized memories
When she determined my affections were deceit
Indeed, I might concede that there was,
In my heart, conceit
Treachery in every kiss,
For my heart was never in it
At the tip of my tongue, a concoction:
Curiosity – the cloak of my lips – and she tasted
Dose after dose – these fed my prose – till alas!
She discovered my mind to be no wonderland
And this, a chapter she must close.