I'm not in love with him anymore,
But it's hard to forget...

The baby-soft black hairs
At the nape of his neck.

His sharp shoulder blades
And the scars on his back.

My fingertips recall
Each mole near his spine.

The span of his arms
So much wider than mine.

The dip in his back
And his caramel thighs.

My muscle memory
Is obsolete.

I'm not in love with him...
How could I be?

Yet, I can't seem to forget
Every delicacy.

The sun is dull.
Its absence depleting.

Exhausted,
Yet up all night.

Numb to the rain.
Desensitized showers.

Pained,
Yet without feeling.

Spices are flavorless.
Tastebuds waning.

Hungry,
But always full.

Eyelids are heavy.
Yet never resting.

Blank,
And tainted gray.

I sewed our love to my limbs...
For everyone to see.

Displayed the photographs and longing glances...
As a sort of confession.

I wrapped our relationship around me like string;
Tangled in a web of hopeful plans.

Adorned myself with imprints of your lips,
And labeled myself as yours.

I etched our memories into my skin.
Believing the marks and moments would last.

Painted myself with your favorite color...
To see myself through your eyes.

Blackened where each fingerprint had once been,
As a reminder of your touch...

I lost my second love,
And covered myself with what once was.

You're like an orange in the summer;
Brightest amongst the other fruits.
Ripe and ready;
Heavy with juice.

"Nothing is constant."
My mother's voice is squeaky yet soothing.
"You're learning a new concept."
Words try their best to move me.

"Afraid of commitment..."
Her ears are blush red at the tips.
"Anyone can work through distance."
My friend places her hands on her hips.

"He came, he saw, he conquered "
My mind replays each scene.
"Perhaps, he was made to wander..."
Curious and nineteen.

"We should stop seeing each other."
His voice distorted through the phone.
"I wasn't ready for a lover."
His disposition now known.

His fingers run through my hair...
Just as yours did.
Palms large and soft; the wind dares
To graze my skin.

The wind is a man; I wish he were you.

His breath on the nape of my neck...
Kissing furthermore.
Giving my nose a swift peck...
Rattling the door.

The wind is a man; I wish he were you.

Forming tears without trying...
Cold blow to the face.
He kisses before biting.
Nips in the same place.

The wind is a man; I wish he were you.

Reminds me of what once was:
Summer days... cold nights.
Whispers of our eros love...
Blown out candlelight.

The wind is a man; I wish he were you.