the taste of your mouth
lingers on my lips,
taunting me with memories
of our bodies entangled in my bed sheets.
how am i supposed to forget
the static of your breath against my neck,
and my hands on your beating chest?
the places on my body
where your hands had touched
leaves a tingling that makes me
yearn for more.
i crave you.

The cheap gold chain
you gave me for Christmas
broke in three different places.
The Polaroids I took
during our brief love affair
are falling off my wall
one by one.
The dress I wore,
the one that makes you sweat,
sits untouched in a box
in a dark corner of my closet.
The love we shared,
or what I thought was love,
collects dust, and rots
in the hole in my chest
where you ripped out my heart.
You thought, that without your touch,
our love would stay untainted.
But that's just it,
we didn't share our love.
We didn't kindle it with care.
I kept your love in a box,
and wore it around my neck,
so that it would always be close.
But you stuck my love,
in the "everything drawer"
the one that's too messy,
and filled with past lovers.
Now, our love is
broken in three different places,
falling apart piece by piece,
stuffed in the dark corners of your mind.
Is this the untainted love
that you were looking for?

tonight i dreamt
that you were here
and coaxed me into bed.
last night i dreamt
that you were near
not a vision in my head.
tomorrow i will dream again
of things i hope i’ll find.
but i really shouldn't play pretend
or i will loose my mind.

It's not about you,
not anymore.
It's about how
I feel like a stranger
lying next to you,
on your futon on the floor
of your best friend's loft.
It's about how you say,
"No,
I cannot kiss you right now,
for my lips are dry."
It's about how
when the buildings
around us start collapsing,
you run to safety,
and forget that I'm
still asleep on the couch
It's about how
when my hair is done,
and pulled slightly to the side,
you say, "But it looks better,
the other way."
It's not about you,
or the way you walk
with confidence and charm,
or how I could gaze in your eyes,
for infinity.

It's about how
I cry when I watch
romantic French dramas,
and how I love
collecting withered flowers,
in empty alcohol bottles
It's about all the things,
you've never thought to ask
and all the days,
you've ignored the way
I have longed for you.
No,
it will never be about you,
not anymore.
This time,
it's about me.

If I could change your name
I would
turn it into a sentence.
It would be
"I Think I'm Falling In Love With You"
just like what you said,
half asleep,
from the backseat of my car,
when we had only known each other
for forty-eight hours.
I would call you that,
I Think I'm Falling In Love With You,
any time I needed
your attention.
"I Think I'm Falling In Love With You,
come read this."
"I Think I'm Falling In Love With You,
while you're in there,
could you get me a glass of water?"
"I Think I'm Falling In Love With You,
I think I'm falling in love with you."