your boxers were on my floor this morning
i call you and pretend to leave a message
how you must have forgot them in your hurry
to dress and leave before my mother woke up
after i snuck you in my window last night
when in reality they've been sitting there for months
collecting dust because i am afraid to touch them,
to remember where i've touched them and you before
because in reality you are feverish with contempt
scowling at the syllables that form my name
it rained this morning
although it felt more like the sky was dripping with distain
i smoke my cigarette and make my way into the kitchen
the hum takes over and i grab a cereal box, a loaf of bread
overflowing spoonfuls of peanut butter and begin eating
sickened with myself and you and what we are
and what we're not and what we could be if you'd only let us
and suddenly im in the bathroom with the water running
i hear the beat of my heart in my head
he will never love you