Your hat was pushed back on your head
so your hair could stick out in little tuffs
like black duck fluff
shadowing your forehead in crazy patterns
that I liked to trace with my eyes
because they'd lead me to your eyes
which were always cool.

You were always cool.
I felt that.

You made me feel pretty and you tempted
all my senses with the way your hand
would linger around my hips,
one finger dipping into
the backside waistband of my jeans.

I used to bite my lip but now I just bite yours.

Then you cut me out like the bad part of an apple,
biting around the soft parts just to get to the core.
I never saw you unless it was by some accident
that your reaction to my presence solidified
my conception that you'd do anything to prevent
having to pass me.
And now I'm not sure if you ever even looked at me.

You never really cared--
I was junk
that you could play around with until the rust set in,
until the shiny parts dulled,
until you were done and needed a new one.

I'm not sure if you ever even saw me.