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maybe next time MAG
you’re as sweet as the sugar pan of rio
the words dripped from your mouth
like water from a leaky faucet
i’ve been meaning to fix it
but just haven’t had the time
or so they say.
the look in your eyes
like straight black coffee
no sugar, no cream, no nothing
almost makes me wince the first hot sip
trickling down my throat
still swollen from your kisses.
surviving off a staple diet
of lattes – extra foam
sleep crusted at the corners of my eyes
doesn’t let me forget last night.
flannel shirts against my cheek,
tear-stained and puffy,
but when is it not.
sour gummy worms snake through my throat
as slippery as your glances in the hall
dripping with disdain.
you’re too good for me,
you once said to me over a coconut macaroon
and a grande chai,
too hot still.
you told me I didn’t deserve this
damn right I didn’t deserve it.
and here you are now, wondering why I left.
wondering why I turned away when you told me to go.
I didn’t think it was that hard of a concept
to follow words as simple as those.
sleep drifts in and out of the window
like coffee at two in the morning
trying to stay awake, desperate to sort out my thoughts before I can lay my head down
but it doesn’t seem to be working.