Everything passes. It has to. That's the beauty and tragedy of it.
The way we make small talk when we meet
Of the weather, the traffic, how our families fare.
The stolen glances when the other isn’t looking
And all the words left unsaid in the space we share.
The way your thoughts jostle for space in my head
clinging on, even after our bodies have separated
And your smell permeates my every single pore
Long after the sheen of sweat has evaporated.
The way we push ourselves away and ricochet
Promising to stay apart and failing every time
You might think we’d have learned by now
That some stories aren’t meant for this lifetime.
The way our eyes and lips don’t collude
I say, “I still hate you. Nothing has changed.”
You nod in agreement, “That’s good,” you say.
But our lies – they are cohorts, lovers deranged.