breakdown on an innocent chest

huddled over the chest that was too deep, smooth, and wide,    
yep,      
I cried.
he mistook my shaking breaths for a blessing    
and unwrapped them for himself.      
the tears for drool, spit; ribbons.      
I do apologize. they were supposed to be gifts for you.      
because, still, я тебя люблю
     
and over the innocent, incorrect chest,      
there and then,      
my back was being raked by the absence  
of the taste of the best love under the sky,      
and the texture of it,      
and everything,      
my love,      
everything.      
I was stuck in reality like a fly      
in resin;      
begging for the sky
I cannot leave without losing my wings;      
I am a word without an outline,      
smeared,      
and alive      
and alone      
slicked in the wrong sweat      
mixed with arms all the wrong size,
trying to remember what color your comforter was.      
     
Buzzed head.      
blue eyes.      
he had a rocksalt face as he      
obliviously      
kissed the puffy, precious wound      
of me still wanting life with you.      
the features were close      
but not quite right.      
     
of course he wasn't you.      
of course I didn't expect him to be.      
and I knew what I was choosing,      
to try to numb myself with the overwhelmed look      
of someone new to my beauty.      
but in those arms,      
I'm just saying,      
I thought about how it felt      
to be wrapped up with you,      
and noticed how hard it was to remember,      
how these arms came close      
but really      
nowhere near me.      
how foreign an American grip was.      
oh, I can quit it with the shell and the quills,      
fucking fine,      
there are no feathers,      
nothing, no spines.      
I am just a human,      
bruised.      
     
Might meet you again      
but better not dare expect to.      
     
I miss your smell.      
I remember massaging your shoulders,  
inviting them to share the weight of your world with me,  
whatever they were sick of holding,  
and I remember  
you telling me to finish my coffee,  
going so, so, steady and slow and low  
with your kisses, lest my cup get cold.     
I remember your voice
as warm to my ears      
as the spices are to the air of the kitchen,,      
I remember the patterns of the hair on your chest      
and always knowing you knew what I meant,      
but I forgot your scent,      
I forgot your scent,      
I forgot your scent.