You can’t have her eyes
because they still look for me
in the darkest of nights
when you hold her tight
she still feels me breathe
because your breathing is obsolete
and doesn't mean much
in the grand scheme of things.

You can't have her strength
because I gave that to her
you can't have her breath
because I took that away
but you can always have her body
that has become an empty shell
because she is not there
because she still sleeps with me
bundled up in between
my solitude and I.

You can have her dry lips
their moisture stayed on mines
you can have her complacent smile
because you never knew the one
that's genuinely warm and affectionate
the one that I still own
the one that belongs to us.

From those star-lit nights
hundreds of moons ago
to the gray Sunday afternoons
spent underneath our skins
when it was just the two of us
and a pint of ice cream
where all the love in the world could fit
and still have plenty of room for more.

You can't have her nose
because it's still tattered with my kisses
and my essence will remain in her lungs
as long as there is air in them
as long as she walks the earth
her lips will never know once more
what is the meaning of true love
unless they meet mines again
at the door of wishful dreaming
where the sky shakes
and our heaven breaks
shared by the two of us.

You can't have her ears
because it's the color of my voice
she would always rather hear regardless
of the pain it's coated on.
So tell me now if you must know
the truth of the matter if nothing else
who is with that person with you
if she's not even with herself?

Who is that person patiently sighing
ultimately packing her bags?
I'll tell you who they belong to:
the one you can't have.