Idea of Love
he didn’t love me;
he loved the feeling of my lips
on his.
she didn’t love me
she just liked when I
made my way between her hips.
he loved the poems
I produced
and the words I
only said to him
but he didn’t love me
he loved the way he thought
I was his
because I let him believe,
but, him and I, we never
‘we.’
so he might of loved me
if not for the gaps where
I ended and
he began
so she could have loved me
if she didn’t curl up with
the pills and whisper,
“I can’t.”
and I didn’t love me.
I loved the way I existed
and I could have loved
the way I lived
but I was too busy
loving on a
whim.
he loved the feeling of my lips
on his.
she didn’t love me
she just liked when I
made my way between her hips.
he loved the poems
I produced
and the words I
only said to him
but he didn’t love me
he loved the way he thought
I was his
because I let him believe,
but, him and I, we never
‘we.’
so he might of loved me
if not for the gaps where
I ended and
he began
so she could have loved me
if she didn’t curl up with
the pills and whisper,
“I can’t.”
and I didn’t love me.
I loved the way I existed
and I could have loved
the way I lived
but I was too busy
loving on a
whim.