There aren't a lot of things I want.
Except maybe a hand
or a smile or a laugh or a good night's sleep.
Really, I just want you to lick my heart
because it hurts
and that's the only remedy I can think of.
I want you to tell me
"Yes, I do remember when I actually gave a **** about you."
I want to know that everything we had wasn't one-sided
or desperate or needy or searching
because I was all of those things,
but I hope you weren't.
I want to feel closure in my bones,
hold acceptance in the palms of my hands.
I want you to come to terms with you
and maybe with me, too.