The church is cold as I perch on my pew.
The heater is broken again, third time
this winter. The preacher has begun his
sermon, but all I hear is the silence of your
absence.
My phone rings. It should turn it off,
especially since it’s playing our song.
I know it’s you. I shouldn’t answer.
I stand and duck out to the lobby.
I know judgmental looks are following me.
Your hesitant hello send heat coursing
through my frozen veins, awakening
my stifled senses. Brother Phillip’s
voice echoes over the loud speaker,
but his words are as distant as God.
All I hear is your heavy breathing.
It hits me as I see your face
smiling bright from the photograph,
green eyes shining, blond hair
brushed perfectly to the side.
I resent you for giving up on me.
I always thought things
you would come back.
You and me, together, for better
or worse.
This is worse, but we are not together.
Did you forget that you are the love of my life?
I meant it when I said it then. I mean it now.
I see your smile and I feel
the love and I resent you
for giving up so soon.
I wanted so badly to be yours.
I thought you wanted me badly too.
I guess our want was not enough.
His heart took a swan dive,
spelunking into his stomach with
a sickening splash. He could see
the hate in her eyes,
the hurt he’d brought her.
He had to look away.
He sees his stark reflection in the
glass of the door before it
slides silently away, welcoming him
into the forgiving warmth of the store,
warmth he knows he doesn’t deserve.
I said I never want to see you again
(with anyone but me). The jazz
from the record player challenges
you to leave. Your words break my
bones (but your kisses are a splint).
Believe me, I can live without you
(if I’m already dead). I swear I’ll
go on if you leave (everyone else
behind). Push and sway in time,
give away your heart (it’s mine).
Forgive and forget is so cliché.
I say never give away the past.
I’ll make everything up to you, love.
Hands grasping hers, knee against the steering wheel.
The shadow of the steeple blankets them
through the windshield, crossing his heart.
He is Judas, throwing back the silver.
He is not who he was. Neither is she.
And yet they’ve been here before.
I’d never do anything to hurt you
On the phone
at 3 AM. The line goes dead
as I wonder if I took hold of you
The way you took hold of me.
You sank into my mind
And made it your home.
You still captivate me.
My mind is full of you
and all your empty promises.
It’s not fair that you were
Able to grab me so quickly.
You swept me up
Before I had a chance to
See what was happening.
Why do I love you?
Why don’t I hate you?
I wish I could read your mind
Just to know what you think
When I see you walk in
at 3:47, tears in my eyes,
because I know from the
scent of that jasmine perfume
just where you’ve been.
You ask why I always
Assume the worst
And I tell you that
If I assume the worst
I can’t be disappointed.
But the truth is, I always
Assume the worst
Because all I want
Is for you to tell me
Just how wrong I am.
You don’t think I love you enough? How the hell
can I love you when I hardly know how to love
me? Who even am I? Why am I asking you,
if you bothered to know you wouldn’t tell me
to love you more when you know I love you
more than anything. Oh, but I guess that’s not
enough for the man who takes everything except
a chance to put someone else first.
Love, your friend:
Sweetie, the roses are all dying now,
They’ve withered and faded beyond repair.
And though you water them I can see how
They still have gone, despite your watchful stare.
Sweetie, the roses have all bowed their heads,
A sign of goodbye in this cold, dark room.
The stems have gone black and their bodies shed
Their petals and leaves far into the gloom.
Sweetie, sometimes I think you are a rose
He’s drying you up petal by petal.
I watch you lie down and as your eyes close,
I see your heart is now withered, brittle.
Sweetie, you know deep inside this is wrong.
Inside your heart is not where he belongs.
Is that love in your eyes, or are you just happy to
see me? Me, naked above you, beneath you,
around you. My bible lies open in the backseat,
Samson and Delilah. My legs clench your waist,
pulling you closer, deeper, further into this
stark truth: there’s no hiding from you now.
Every inch of me bare, my ugly flaws and
rosy lies, sketched across my inner thighs.
Am I good for a game? Love and sex are not
the same. There’s nothing to see here past
the hills and valleys of dimples and curves.