Dust-ridden and Forgotten

These matching disguises take the shape of 

old habits when

Your choice of absinthe burns the same scars 

down my throat

Words of hypocritical prose caught in the mess that comes 

from thick bandages

These old wounds continue inhibiting our limbs

from reaching out

Warm skin hidden behind cotton, 

your touch lingers 

Like the phantom limb 

of a past lover 

The daydream-sweet illusion

of your caress and

If I could taste the feeling

of you thinking 

Of me when I wasn’t 

next to you 

Perhaps I’d feel less 

of a fool

This call like desire, come with me

into the woods

Where all the poets 

go to die

You don’t belong, but then again, 

neither do I

And like cowards, what’s stuck in between 

our flushed lips 

Will be written and whispered 

in hindsight stanzas 

Bleached in sunlight where no one

will ever see