He doesn't say I love you, but i hear it all the same
between smudged weekends and the insufferable "what if's"
The reason we dress eachother up in pretty adjectives;
Love, we call her. Utilitarian goddess, I have no desire to be subdivided.
Halves. Quarters. Call me in the dark by someone else's name.


He kisses me on a friday evening at 6pm in an uptown restaurant, the way they do it in the movies. I wipe off the residue when he skims the menu. The speech is very long. The ring is very pretty. When I tell him no, you can see his world shatter. But there's always a ******* casualty isn't there? Him or you. Him or you.

You love me baby, I know
But that wasn't what I asked for.