You loathe yourself
because you wish you
were someone else.
Somewhere else
in love with someone else
Your lungs howl their last
gasp to your blue lips,
of which hers you could kiss.
A storm of barren lies
and fervent lethargy
hangs in the bitter tides
of an allusive first date,
assuming it was exclusive
because the person
of you wishes you
were someone else
sexting her in Carolina;
wishing she’d love you,
instead of someone else.
Peace of mind washes
not across her lips of gloom.
She sees the person
you’ve become.
She’s impressed with the person
you’ve become.
It was better when it was you
and her alone under the maple tree,
surrendering control,
and you’d steal it.
You chatted until
the evening chill
bit your chapped skin
an excuse to hold her
like she’s herself again.

(© 2022 AC)

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