Your Face Fits

I miss you because you were the last man to kiss me

Although I can’t recall the creases in your lips…

I remember what it felt like to be kissed again

Be still my errant…loins

I felt insipidly alive!

But your hands…your hands did not cup my face

Griping the joints at my hips and bending me in half

I moved them to the smallest part of my stomach the place where I fold my own hands.


You accused me of mooning over fairy tales.

But what I wanted from you was even more far fetched

I wanted to be touched intrinsically

Touched the way paint meets the canvas

It was nothing new to be let down

I tried to take in stride as a modern career women

You can have it all you just can’t have it all at once…

I asked you for more, in the way of the modern woman

And I suppose you acted like the modern man

Leaving me to a persona in grey

Unfriended in the most barbaric way


Why did you leave me burning?

Nostalgia is smoke I inhale

I’m tittering almost falling on the floor

I forgot what it felt like to be wanted

Now I’m dizzy with want

If I fall, I won’t weep

I’ll fantize about having my back pressed against the floor

There is something about lying from shoulder blade to the small of your back

The sharp edges of your hips convex and greeting shadows

I never shared that with you…

I couldn’t possibly miss it…

Your face fits…

Even as I seek sweat instead of tears

Your face fits in the meantime.

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed