Here I am trying to decay, but you held me tight with hands
like yellow yarn to stop me from all my biodegrading
but you don’t know you don’t know you do not know
you are a dangerous creature with a smile like farewells on January mornings
and I fear you at night when you entwine our fingers because you proved to me
that honesty is a relative thing.
You were furtive in your glances, abrupt when our lips pressed together, and fleeting,
quick footed when you felt it was right to leave me
in your shadow.
I felt romantic last night and I think you did too
because you ran your fingers through my hair and dragged the points of your nails
down my cheeks and through to the hollow of my throat
and I made a bird out of a piece of paper, a flying thing that looked sinister
in the shallow dark, and lit it on fire with the ember of my cigarette.
some people have totally different ideas of romantic,
you smiled.