I could hope the worst for you,
and believe me, I stopped hoping positively
for a long time.

I could hope that your newfound skill at
the Spanish guitar leaves your fingers in shambles
and splinters.

I could hope that you rot,
like a love-letter
in a landfill.

I could hope you wake up from your trash-heaping heaven,
clawing at the garbage of your past loves
and your skill turns out to be a curse.

But it won't matter.
Because you'll still be kissing her,
and I bet her lips might never get tired.