I should miss the smoker's cough
Since her voice is trailing off
Fading, flimsy in my head
These memories of her and me
Come to life so vividly
That when in bed
It's not clothes I shed
It's them instead
I dream alone so drearily
Until I think of her frigidity
Or whatever her mood seemed to be
To me, she flees
When she sees I'm oozing with quiddity
But it was my stupidity to think that I could ever be accepted
Yet I'm the one who neglected
Her need to know me ever so deeply that she could weep for me
Then greet me greedily into her arms
Into her life
To call her that word which rhymes with the last line
To waste her time
As if mine wasn't also on the line
But I'll be fine
For she is the knife
and I am the wound she left behind