If nothing else, you taught me
how to walk myself out gracefully.
The dew is condensing on my face the way
my lips touched your eyelashes as I slipped away;
morning rays creeping towards my irises
because it is seven in the morning
and I have not yet taught myself
how to fall asleep in your arms,
have not given myself the opportunity
to let you push me away, but I know that
she's still on your mind
haunting you like a crick in the base of your spine
and I am building hidden innuendos and memories within
neglected lines I am confident you won't
ever read
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