Letters written in moist finger on
the bathroom mirror, complimenting
my appearance and I thank you
only for your cleverness. My heart
does not melt at the drip of your
activity that have popped up
at moments that were our best.
A growing awkwardness but your
look of comfort does not shift.
Steady dancing around the present
thing that keeps topics of talks
minimal, showering me with gifts
most precious, catering to my
biggest wants and moving around
happily as though you feel nothing
new. Giving and I take these things
while, secretly, I have taken time out.
I ask you, please, wipe away those
sweet letters as we talk of fading
sparks that made it hard to deal with
everything being everything with you,
and how everything is always new
with him.
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