No. 10 (No. 5 Revised)

Your Perry Ellis soaks my shirt, my skin.

I spray it there myself.

I hate that I miss you.

Your breath is cologne; I smell you and know nothing good will do for you tonight.

Your hands pull me close, I feel my body pulling closer. Longing to be closer than breath, as close as skin.

Your hands push me away.

Harsh and cold; colder than the air on my face as my body breaks through the door. I ask myself if you’ve ever experienced gentle love before.

You kiss like a dog. Licking my lips before finally pressing yours into mine. every. single. time. and your tongue makes me want to tell you to stop but I can’t say that so I slap you instead and you want me to keep up the act.

You have an addiction and you won’t admit it. I can taste it on your mouth - alcohol and weed. I hate that I like it.

You don’t know how to kiss. I teach you to move your lips. slowly. I teach you to tilt your head, part my lips with yours. I teach you to breathe while you kiss; take in how I smell, how I taste, how I move.

I teach you to press your lips in again, faster this time. I teach you to part my lips with your tongue and you pull me in but this lesson is alive and you don’t need me to teach you how to gently love anymore.

You can’t teach me any truth, facts, or definitions; I am smarter and stronger and I make my case, evidence on display while you try to discredit me.

Truth is derisive; you taught me what addiction feels like. How it builds up in your blood; how your body aches for a speed and a slow down when all you really want is to slow down.

Just slow down.

Who have I become?