In Deep

Can I wrap myself
in your coffee bean smell
and snuggle in it’s
morning-madness memory,
indifferent
yet routine,
familiar
predictable?

Hang about your neck
like a withered garland,
drained of all fragrance,
a pale shadow
of it’s former glory and beauty,
yet rightful occupant
around the temple deity’s
stone neck?

Can I rip
the buttons off your shirt,
claw your skin,
mark you,
bleed you
and then lick you
till you tingle,
you like it,
you scream?

Can I hate myself
for just,
for just,
for just….

Hell.
I don’t know.

I know.

You know.

For just…

For the sake
of what
it once was.
For the sake
of what
we once had.

Just for that.