— just what I was afraid of.

Or
just maybe
the sweetly stale echo of muffled cries
forced down your throat
by a monster too greedy

Or
just maybe
the sweetly rotten hint of a fondness
that died trying
to grow into love

Oh
just maybe
there’s still a chance
for you to exist

did mourning the loss
of your touch
become an automatic thing?
I’m still
casting the image of you onto my mind
every day and night
And maybe it’s nothing
but an habitual mechanism,
the mere echo of years I spent
missing you

And I don’t think you understand.
I just want to sleep with you - but it’s not about lust
at all
I just want to hold you - close enough
to taste your every thought
So I may catch any hint
of artificial sweeteners
in time.