I made you breakfast because Last night, you called me ‘luv’ While laughing at the way I hung our clothes (Still warm from us) Behind my door.
It was the English in you, I admit, But I was hoping that If I left you something to remember Like how I cared about Even the fabric that caressed you before I did Or how I like my breakfast As I do my men, English and in bed, You would stick around And say it again Because the next time, it would be true.