there's something charming about the way
you talk to me.
through drugged brain cells and sleepy fingers,
your words don't skip a beat,
they keep in time with my heart.
all these months later,
again,
you're not something i'll give up
easily.
i don't know if it's possible to write
an appreciative poem
without it being labeled love.
but i do appreciate you, in the highest sense.
you saw me when i was chameleonized,
as hungry as the exotic hotel carpet,
threatening to swallow me whole.
you are your smooth hands,
the ones that remind me of how well you're living.
they say that's the best revenge,
but i hope that's not how it is for us.
i want it even,
a flat, smooth line,
from your house to mine,
linking us, knotted
and a glass half filled -
no, empty -
with regret.
