This city makes me miss you.
And I would pretend to be surprised,
but the ceilings in cities are always too high
and my thoughts tend to wander.
(For the record, I am less than impressed
that they found their way back to you.)
Last night, I swear you were waiting for me to fall asleep
to climb into the rafters, and sneak into my dreams.
I woke up feeling haunted and exhausted.

Now you've been following me all day,
and I'm tired of looking over my shoulder.
Kissing him makes me remember the taste of your bitter coffee breath.
His kind eyes contrast the complex hurt yours used to reflect.
His simple, level-headed ways make me recall all
of the circles our troubled words used to spin,
the endless loops we were always trapped within.

My ears keep echoing with the way
you used to chatter nervously in your sleep.
And I can almost still smell your apartment
with the candles struggling to mask damp laundry,
unwashed dishes, the smell of sweat and stale ****.
The heaviness collecting inside of my chest resembles
the weight of your body wrapped around my lap
the last time we spoke and the way my fingers
still found their way to your back.
I wonder if you understood the things my fingertips traced
while our words started cornering us into our familiar place.

                                                      We were circling the drain anyway,
I was just another silly girl who thought she could save someone.

                                 I'm really sorry
                                You should be
I miss you
Good.
                                                         ­                  
                                              ­                                    You always saw through my *******,
                                                       ­                             it scared the hell out of me.
                    
I would have loved you exactly the way you are-unconditionally  
                                           ­                      You were always enough.

                                                       ­                                                                 ­   I love being miserable.
                                                    ­                                            Well, you should probably get used to it.

                                                        
                                                      We were circling the drain anyway...

Our conversations are the world's worst song on repeat
but I felt such smug closure after that night
things finally felt finished or at least mostly complete.
So why now did you feel the need to start the haunting again?
Call off your ******* ghost, B.
I am tired. Its over this time.
This needs to finally end.

I am a little bit more
than a little bit out of my league.
But whenever I start to panic
you try to reassure me.

What happens when we eventually run out,
of things for us to talk about?

Well then we'll both finally get some sleep.

And when we wake up?

**Then we'll  just talk about our dreams.

You told me black was your favorite color,
and I have always preferred lace, myself,
so I found something to make us both happy.

I knew I would see you today,
and if I leaned over in just the right way
you'd see the quick peek of what's hiding underneath
this light summer dress-the kind that lifts off so easily,
and you would wonder if it was for you.

Did you notice?
It was not an accident, but an invitation.
And something about the way
you placed your fingertips over your lips
to hide the smile slowly spreading across them
tells me that you accept.