You think it's love.
Screaming from
rooftops professing
untrue concepts
obsessing over
nothing.
She wakes up different.

She wakes up indifferent.  
Hours prior,
vulnerable
*** naked
infatuation.
Her voice her
eyes her touch it all
swirls around
raspberry in the evening.
You think it's love.
Sunset against
her smile
as night ends the week.
Smoke, ****.
I guess city kids don't
sleep.
You think it's love.
That clouds would part
for the sun to
shine on her
the next morning.
That
you are worthy of
her light.
You think it's love.
Every song sounds
like her laugh.
You haven't heard it
in weeks.
The radio plays on,
crackling
driving reckless
auditory hallucinations.
You lose yourself
in the last
sip, swimming.
Used to it.
You are confused.
She goes on to
show herself to someone
new.
I still think
it's ******* love.