his hair,
light against your neck, like a feather.

your lips,
parted and chapped,
haven't been touched in days.

his hands,
pressing sporadically into your skin,
almost morse code for
"i'm going to leave you tonight."

you knew
you knew
you knew,
but it didn't hurt like you thought it would.

after all,
how could you resent something
so beautiful?
how could you regret something
so real?