the last time i saw you, you were happy with her.
beauty straight outta ebony, coca cola curves, and
fashion like vogue. smile straight outta a colgate ad, and
her hair was perfect. the wind blew her shirt and it
clinged to her breasts, exposing her perfect cleavage.
she had an ice cream cone in one hand and her cell
in another so you leaned forward to brush her hair
to the side. i don’t know why i stood around taking this
all in, but it ripped me to shreds.
i wonder if she moans
the way i do when we fuck. i wonder if she listens to
your guilty heart beating fast against your chest when you orgasm.
i wonder if you fuck her in that motel off bushwick ave,
the one with the toilet that’s always clogged.
i doubt it.
my soul’s wide open, so wide open yet you decide
to torment it with missed calls, texts, shit that doesn’t
click. but i stay because i’m addicted to lusting after
you. the game- the shit that drives me crazy. fucking
with my mind, that’s the shit that keeps me clinging on
to you. wish you knew how much i hate you, but i guess
this is the last time you’ll see me again. perfect isn’t perfect
until you’re mine, but i guess i’ll stick to doing me and
you do you.
