It wouldn't be the first time you pulled me away
Helped me lose green eyes
Softness
Freckles.

I’d never admit you saved me
From a breathing sunset
From midnight pain
From overdue essays
From idle hands and blood stained sleeves

Two years later and nothings changed
Except maybe you grew an inch
And I have someone new

I still count everything
Kisses throughout commercials
Staining my neck

I stopped to smell your cologne last week
Risked the sales-associate ambush
considered asking about who you've loved since.
Her hands aren't home.

We’re having dinner next week
At a new diner,
Because our booth isn't ours anymore.
And I hope you kiss me goodbye
Her mouth doesn't know me like yours.