the smell of
primos reminds
me of sex-

with you
nothing is ever
complete

and,
so much is left
unsaid,
hanging.

in my head,
needing to be
shouted in your
mouth.

i am cloaked
inside your
denial,
the silence leaves
me room to

assumptions-
so much that
you hate and

it's not to be
helped when
i can't
hear what
you're not
saying.