Conveniently yours

You’re not lost, and I’m not found
in the arms of desire
we’re just repossessed
held in different hands
that smell of overworn t-shirts
and yesterday’s nostalgia

I’m a head full of dreams
with an arms worth of regrets
that write their way down my skin
remembered only in the scars
I picked beyond healing

And I feel like a loser in the quip of your eyes
that don’t need words to speak a world full
of condescension
because we’re not the dreamers
we thought we’d be
back when we thought love
would be the drug to save us

Yet I still melt under the delusions
we used to whisper into each other’s skin
and when your mouth touches mine
I’m lost, and you’re found
despite the fact that we’re just liars
heating up the wrong bed
bodies entwined
pretending we haven’t written our secrets
into each other’s skin

And they say
I’m not sorry for wanting you

© Indie Adams 2013