He looks at me
               but not the way you do.
                         His eyes don't scream of the                                       distance.
                His lips don't curl towards
flushed cheeks at the sight of me


He does not love me
                                     though he says he does.
I do not love him
                                but he is here
                                                         and you are not.
I am not his
                     he is not mine.


The salt on his upper lip is bitter when we kiss.
                     his hands do not graze my skin the way yours do.
At his touch I pretend as if it is you.
                      I pretend his green eyes are the hazy honey of yours.


I follow your lips with my eyes
                                                       fingers tracing the shape of his.
I like to pretend that he is you.
But he is not and will never be.