I once carved poetry into your back with the nail of my pinky finger-  so that any girl who lays beside you can read the way I fell in love with your breathing after all the nights you found sleep before I did. Maybe they'll get a bitter taste in their mouth when they realize my love for you was not enough to make you stay.
You traced your fingertips on my skin as though I was simply a map that led to your pleasure. You sunk your teeth into my shoulders while pulling back on my hair because you were convinced that I couldn't feel anything; somehow its 3 years later and my eyes still read through our conversations searching between the lines for the reason you left.
You used to touch me as though your hand on my thigh was the key to my heart and my moans were the only ways of expressing my love to you but you'll never be able to read the poem on your back that says I could feel your heart beat on the mattress of my twin bed... its been three years and my sheets still smell like vacancy. My heart is collecting dust in the corners because no ones been in there since you decided it wasn't enough for you. I can't recall the rhythm of your heart and sometimes my lungs forget how to breath.
Its days like these I wish you were right about my inability to feel. But God knows there are more nerve endings in my heart than the place between my thighs and maybe if you wouldn't have ****** all the love out of me it wouldn't be as hard to see you go.
Its been three years.