He slipped a bracelet onto my wrist
Missing a peace because his tummy rumbled as he traveled
Gently moved it over my pink polished fingers
Still sticky from where his teeth yanked apiece off
Progressed over my pale palm
Where the smallest amount of saliva glinted in the sun
And finally resting at the base of my arm
As if it was custom made
Pastel colors with no pattern circling my wrist
And an almost un-noticeable inedible trinket hanging from the rope
Love it read
As if I could understand what that meant
Love seemed so simple
Love is love
But is love, love?
Not like, lust, nor want
The piece of your heart missing because it rests in another’s possession?
Love never made it to my wrist
Because he ate it by mistake