You are lingering on the edge of my mind,
the ghost of your smile smirking. I want
to push you off and watch the memory
of you break on the rocks of this reality.
I think about your hands and sometimes
I miss them but then I remember they
only held mine when pinned above
my head. Hope is drowning and there
I go with it, grasping at regrets, forgetting
that I carry life-jackets in my pocket (because
god forbid I rely on someone else). Your name
still hits me like a fist, a stone-hard closed rose,
scattering our moments like dead petals.
Your names never matched, they admit.
I wish someone had told me before I flung
my keys at you. Now I hang you out to dry,
another stained lover to join the line
of those who couldn’t pull through
the hot cycle of my expectations.
I watch you behind locked windows,
your sins billowing in the wind.
I am eating from a bowl of compliments
from men who kiss me on beaches,
in bathrooms, in French, and
I give a black-coffee-laugh…
because I finally get the joke.