I sat up on the bed slowly. Wearily
I wish I could just lay here all day
and pretend that the world stood unmoved
last night, when everybody was sound asleep.
I want you, you under the sheets— never,
as always, caring if I am alright. Feigning
recovery or bare lifelessness.
Not minding if I am half-naked
in front of eyes that do not really see,
the sun mocked me from outside
your window as I picked my clothes off
the floor. I sluggishly stood to put on
my jeans and reached out for my last
cigarette on your bedside table.
I wish I could come up with
an apt excuse to stare at your face,
examine the color of your eyes,
and crawl back in your arms to stay there.
Kiss you again. To bite your lips and let your taste
linger within me. To do everything out of love—
the love only I could feel. And forget
that you will never ever feel the same.
