she dances on my heart like a flutter

You told me my poetry was beautiful,
but I do not write with words because my lips
are parched from kissing you too hard
on the longest night of my life, and I
have run out of lyricism and settled for brevity.
It's ironic, because I vomit out mellifluousness
the way the smell of morning coffee wakes me up.
You're already up and about,
carrying about the rest of your life without me,
and I carry on my shoulders bite (marks the spot
like an unfinished afterthought
between missing parentheses. My hang
over looms like a precipice I cannot step away from,
but our mo(u)rning never truly came
the way you shook between my legs,
because I stole away in the dark of the night;
kissed your eyelashes and took a heartbeat from you
while you were sleeping

and love, you've never even noticed that I still wake up alone.