48.

call me catatonic but I swear
this was the last thing I expected to find under your fingernails
the grime of those ugly six words you said you couldn’t stand to write
but you went ahead and wrote them, didn’t you.
see, there was something about the sticker burrs in your eyes
something about the tip of your tongue and the race of your fingers against mine
and the way I got drunk off your breath
something that made me just want to curl up and sleep under the lamps you lit
and call it a goddamn day.
but you ripped that rug right out from under my feet.

so I’ll give you back your headband, and your see-through t-shirt and your spare contact solution
and I’m not gonna ask for a kiss in return.
because I’d like to believe I don’t need it.
and even if I do, even if I ache for it, even if I’m parched for your sweat,
even if I’d rather see your clothes making trails through my kitchen than the sun coming up tomorrow,
even if I know my knees were made to quake in your absence
and I’d give just about everything to hear your voice in my sleep one more time,
you had better believe I will fake this detached smile until it latches onto something real.