The poet in my always wants to take apart everything

The shish in his pants as he slid them off and they hit my floor

How fur like, soft as thick, his inky hair was as I ran my fingers through it, caressing the scalp underneath gently with the tips

The beauty of the curves of the muscles in his back, how gorgeously proportioned every part of him is

The vibration of his laughter, the heaviness of his arms as he fell asleep wrapped around me

The way my heart squeezed when he woke up and cared gently for me

I haven't slept so well next to someone in so long

It all still hurts

So I see him, and we smile, and we both know
That this world existed between us
While everyone else speculates
And I pretend that
I don't have complicated feelings
And he pretends
He doesn't feel at all
And we pretend
We have only ever been friends