your

he filled

my belly with

wine

my ears

with kisses

and he tells me

in his bed

that i am beautiful

but i roll over

so i do not have

to see his face

and say

i know.

his pretty toys

and shiny car

and gentle fingers

aren’t you.

they could

never be.

he wouldn’t get

how we made love

like it was the

last time

every time

because it

could have been.

he wouldn’t get

how i would

die

for your touch,

for your voice,

for your mouth full of lies

that i devoured

like i hadn’t eaten

in days.

i miss you

and the fire

you lit

in my insides

that burns

only for you.

i am in a big bed

with a nice man

but it is your face

i see.