i do not want you.
i do not want your touch;
your hands skimming my hips, my sides
delicate fingers stroking black lace
reverently
i do not want your lips
on my jaw, my collarbone
my neck, my anywhere...
supposedly
i do not want your voice;
a soft whisper in the lamplit glow
that, even after you go, still hangs in the air
wistfully
i do not want you.
i do not want you.
(a mantra chanted under my breath, somewhat
doubtfully)
the hardest lies are the ones we tell ourselves.