Love is a word flung round
so easily. I've strung myself
out on boys I loved
but knew too well,
and aside from being unobtainable
before midnight on Saturdays
were unsustainable contrasts
to a person like me.

I don't love you.
I never loved you. I barely like you.
I love the smell of you, the feel of you,
waking up beside you and cracking
jokes with you. I weep for that smile,
the way you can't speak in public,
pick the label off your beer
and listen in on conversations
because you can't make your own.
My mother says you sound like
you're boring at parties.

I say no.
It makes me feel special that you
have things to say to me.
In fact, until I heard you speak
I never thought much of you.
I think it's why they say you don't think much of me these days,
only I heard those silly things that you told me.