I don't want to write about sentimental ****,
not about how your eyes were the color of the ocean at dusk or how you are
made up of stardust and moon beams
Let's be real, you and I were never about that
You and I were about ***
we were about the backseats of cars, broken condoms, and plan B
drunken stutters of affection pushing between colliding hip bones
nauseous mornings filled with clipped recollection of what may or may not have occurred
We were never about those three little words, we survived on two
but even "*******" held little meaning
cuming from you
You and I were about chipped teeth,
separate bills for the meal of the last girls heart
I sustained myself on what you could give me
and you ate me dry
You and I were never about "we"
You and I were never that gullible,
you and I were never about sentimental ****
like flowers and poems.
You and I weren’t,  
But I was.