You are a sincere tornado.
You are kinetic energy.
You are a crystal hanging heavy from my neck.
You charge in leaving my covers in a bunch and my heart in a tangle.
(And where's my ******* blanket?)

But this is not your bed to make.
It is mine.
I gave you permission to coax my ears with your talks of adventure
                                       auras
                                               and hemp.
I also gave you my popsicle -- the one I'd been saving for days
(An intended treat for myself)
I offered, you accepted.
But I still wanted so we shared.
You liked the cherry, I the lemon.

Funny how that was probably
the closest I'll ever come to
kissing you again
And ironic how there was
no joke on the stick,
like maybe all of this
isn't actually that
funny.

But we (can i say we?) laugh.
We laugh so we don't cry.
And I still run my fingers through your hair.
It is so long now.


2:24 a.m. The sun will be rising soon
And you will be with her
And all I know is
she isn't me
and
I am not her