is done

Like I used to

close my fingers on your stomach.

Barely touching.

Breeze a whisper at your ear.

Hardly singing.

Damp the tip of your nose with a lick.

Slightly smelly.

Break your smile with a word of my doubt.

Mistrust of the Future.

And I used to

strum your strings in the cellular air.

Honest lullaby-ing.

Roll you with me on bamboo mats.

Sleepless resting.

Bring you milk in bed, thirsty and spent.

Coupled tired.

Quiet your confidence with a word of my pride.

Misspeak of the Present.

When I used to

dig through YouTube to freshen your Inbox.

Laughing receiving.

Blind myself in the darkness of your curls.

Hiding, breathing.

Muss my hair while fed live to your screen.

Fighting, receding.

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.

When.

And I used to.

But I never brought you flowers.

I hope he does.

photo:http://farm1.static.flickr.com/103/282327168_e205a48578.jpg