By Lauren Salvo

I was the one who would make
your voice shake and get
your hands all sweaty,
but now I’m not.

The one who kept
your notes in the top drawer
of my night stand, and kissed
you in your red pickup truck until
it was too late to be out.

The one who would sneak through
your second story window
when you wanted my body,
and I wanted yours.

Then, I was the one you couldn’t look at
as we walked past each other at work.
But after months of silence,
I sit here talking to you on the phone telling you,

I was the one who never thought
about you anymore,
but now I’m not.