I'm coming right back to the curves of your smile.

and now I'm trying to decide if I should let you in on this little week of bedridden regret.

or we can carry on, both knowing how we'll end up in that bed together, laughing as we strip.

and I can carry on already knowing my smile will be fake,  as your hand touches my hip.  

keeping your eyes on the same little scars you knew I had. without having to wonder how I got them. 

and as soon I as I can,  I'll make
my impending exit, crawl right out of your bed.  it isn't my place to stay there.  

I don't want to know if you'd miss me

and in the morning I'd take a shower, thinking of just how much you must've had to drink last night,  and how it wouldn't have happened otherwise. 

so how do I know this is going to happen already?