my love was sugar
in your tea but you preferred it black
it never stayed hot very long  
you left it on the burner regardless

my love was a mess
in your home I was scattered shoes and broken glass
I asked for time to plan out my escape
but you held the door open for me

my love wore white instead of red
it did not hold hands or smoke cigarettes
I stayed about the surface for most of our time
because I was scared of not doing it right

my love was an open home
empty hallways for strangers to rome
a place to lay their head or put up their feet
it was a soup kitchen for those who were hungry


and I starved myself to keep them full