Like I used to
close my fingers on your stomach.
Breeze a whisper at your ear.
Damp the tip of your nose with a lick.
Break your smile with a word of my doubt.
Mistrust of the Future.
And I used to
strum your strings in the cellular air.
Roll you with me on bamboo mats.
Bring you milk in bed, thirsty and spent.
Quiet your confidence with a word of my pride.
Misspeak of the Present.
When I used to
dig through YouTube to freshen your Inbox.
Blind myself in the darkness of your curls.
Muss my hair while fed live to your screen.
Drown your cheeks with a word of my resentment.
Mistake of the Past.
But I used to
bargain badly for more time alone.
Abandon your argue through the door to the road.
Soak you in my sulking till you let go of the rope.
Wake up, measure the blanket to make sure you weren’t cold.
Like I used to.
And I used to.
But I never brought you flowers.
I hope he does.