I understand what a turn of a back,
and lack of touch,
means to a broken girl.

I know that look,
the one you give,
when there's nothing left to lose.

I wonder why
when your lips ghost my back,
have you chosen
to impress false hope,
against a broken heart.

I think that
your intentions are like those,
of children.
Making breakfast for their mothers.

But I wish I could believe your gentle promises
when they fall from those cold lips.