1x7

It’s always been this way  
a doomsday apocalypse at first sight  
as if falling head over heels  
wasn’t just a cliche but a determined  
saturation of life  
breathing  
eating  
sleep  
lust  
sex  
 
you.  
 
maybe I’m just a stupid fuck who doesn’t understand language  
or better yet I do  
maybe too well  
maybe not well enough  
it’s all double think and parables anyway  
 
you run through my thoughts  
on any day that ends in y  
and I’m too slow to catch up  
and I don’t really want to  
because last time I caught you  
last time was feral need  
followed by  
longing  
and demands  
 
when it all faded and I found out you were more  
more than I could handle  
 
I couldn’t play it cool because I was lost  
in the pretty poetry of words forming on pursed lips  
and the cursive lines of your hips  
my hands battered by work  
sliding on soft silken flesh instead of  
calloused hard wood and fake veneers  
reality of it is I didn’t deserve you  
 
we often don’t appreciate what we don’t deserve  
or maybe we like to sabotage it  
because of our own sense of guilt  
maybe it’s that feeling of not being enough  
projecting weakness out as if it’s stars  
in a pitch black sky on a moonless night  
 
all this to say  
my hands ache for one last touch  
as if they have phantom limb syndrome  
and you’re the piece of me  
that’s  
missing