I know that you’ve heard this before,
I know that your patience has run thin,
And these love poems are getting boring.
After the 5th one night stand, she said she felt like a slave to your lips.
I guess that’s when you started fearing, using your tongue as a whip.
When the lust is so thick and the morals so weak,
Her blood still violet on the inside but her lipstick’s gram pink
When you scrape your paintbrush across her canvas, nothing but water color courage & red wine to pour,
Intentions & temptations blurred like, like a beautiful sunset but you swore on the blood of every black bird
Not to answer her calls,
Not to empty her depths,
Not to fish her pearl,
But just look at her black curls
So much midnight about her you feel like she’s cursed.
And you can’t tell what’s worst, admitting you’re a coward,
Or telling her you just don’t want her.
After the 5th one night stand with the 4th different woman for the 3rd time this month, he wrote a poem about how 2 is the loneliest number he’s ever known
& how the most at home he feels is in highway drives that wind him home
In the tar of I-95 north, across Bronx, south of route 4, west 87 towards Jersey.
The damps of mattress plural she’s left behind
The contoured faces of girls wondering “why?” haunt through the air
& she likes it there.
& he likes it there.
In that haze.
She is literally saying his name
In other men’s beds.
She actually told them that but the last text he read said “Miles you are fucking disgusting, to think you came in me one week ago”
He puts the phone down back into the center counsel of the car
Face steady like warriors after a clean death without a flinch or a murmur of lips as Take Care fades back through the speakers
You know, you know it’s messed up when you can start relating to that shit
When the best excuse you have for leaving before the sun rises is “she’ll never understand me anyways.”
And yeah, the truth hurts, but don’t tell her you love her if you’re not willing to put in work.
After the 5th date, with the 4th guy who looks like you I’m beginning to wonder if I’m not just a little nostalgic
And I’d apologize but he doesn’t love me anyways,
he’s just in love with an idea
so I promise instead not to fart or cough
I’ma just let Einstein keep dreaming all hypothesis & semen.
Why ruin the ambience with honesty,
I just happened to have breast & ass & added a bonus for free
So whatever feelings he claims he has it won’t last no matter how bad the hangover, it’ll past
‘cause I can stomach damn near everything
Even gas and a lit match with your initials etched on the back
I don’t have to think when I’m with him
If that’s any constellation
Surface conversation in the blind observation that hands feel like hands in the middle of the dark
But his voice don’t sound like yours no matter how many lights I turn off.
And I, and I, I can’t get high enough anymore to disregard the beautiful, young lady, my one & only,
that reminded me,
keeps reminding me
that when you give yourself to someone
when your walls collapse
& your masks are thrown to the floor
You’re so close to someone, that everything seems to have a taste
The texts of her insides, poems in self over swooning to cum at the same exact time
I’m reminded that when it’s done, they can call on your soul whenever they want to
And will, whenever their lonely needs its fix."