All of the boys
I have ever loved
Have been
Illusions

I could have
Written them
On used napkins
In golden
Cafes
Or scrawled
The adjectives
Describing them
Across pages
Of a journal
Whose pages
Are too empty

Their hands
Were always as cool
As their warm hearts
Before I fell
For them
And as warm
As their cold hearts
After I had
Stumbled
And dropped
Into their
Waiting
Wanting

Demanding
Arms

I could have written
How many chances
I would have to give them
Molded
Into their hopeful
Smiles

'Forgive
Me'

I may as well
Continue
To write
Words
Empty
And full
Like the sky
And fall in love
With the made up boy
With the brown eyes
Standing in front of me