We spent Friday nights together,
and lately they haven't been amazing, no,
but god, do I miss your breathing next to me,
your soft skin, the sun spots on your face,
illuminated by the lights outside your place.
The silhouette of your sleep.
It always got me to close my eyes.
I miss it bad on nights like these when I can't do just that.
Our nights had become later, jaded by quarrels of the day,
I wanted so badly to be kissed by you in ourdarkness
held close and reminded of my worth
but we were both too tired too oblige
too angry to see that what we needed more than anything was each other
not the parties, **** and drinks,
not the glow of our cellphones or the flash of our new clothes.
I cry more often lately,
than I have in long long time.
Back to my old ways, I suppose.
Mourning the loss of what was good.
I miss what we could have been always
but only were for a few nights at a time.
I forget the sting to lament what felt right.
I turn my wet pillows over and keep trying to sleep.
I don't think you'll ever know how much I weep.
Why couldn't we?
