What if I never love again?
Remembering. The smooth glide,
friction, skin against skin. Taste of
mint wax and Jack on my
tongue. Never forgetting.
What if I never love again?
Time wasted. Looking effortless.
Waiting for hours. Endless
burns crafted from blazing
iron. Weakened scarlet
swirling – fashioned by
biting blades and nervous hands.
What if I never love again?
The growl of syllables,
by name, clawing its way
from your throat – lost. A moan
floating through the air, born of your hands –
a memory.
What if I never love again?
Pointless. Pointless fights,
a missing remote or
stolen containers. Hair ties
left on counters, toilet
seats unattended. Pain
forgotten. Useless.
What if I never love again?
Your hands, no longer on my
skin. Your voice, no longer in
my head. Repeated sounds,
meaningless words. "I
love you." A lie. Poison –
like you.
What if I never love again?
