Last night’s sweat
Is still in my hair
But
I’m almost ready
To be done with this.
Almost ready to tell you
This is not
Working out.

You used to invite me
To hang out;
Now
You just call me
When you want to
Fuck me; when
You’re desperate.

There are no movies.
There are no dinners.
There are no flowers
Or songs,
Or I love you’s.

Last night’s sex
Is still in my thighs
But
I’m almost ready
To warn you;
Almost ready to say,
I have a poet’s
Fragile soul

I’m not emotionally
Prepared to
Do this.
You can’t just call me
When you can’t
Fall asleep at night
You can’t use me.

I want movies.
I want dinners.
I want flowers,
And songs and
I need I love you’s.

Last nights kisses
Are still swelling on my lips
But
Didn’t you feel the
Emptiness in it?
The going through
The motions?
The little things dying
Inside of me?