You said it was best like this, but how?
I was a lost drunk fool and you were a
Death trap in the most lovely way, but now
All I can see is your lips when they say
Those words: let’s just be friends, let’s just be friends.
You cried between syllables and you said
you were sorry, but this “thing” had to end
And said, “thing” with emphasis. Then I read
the poem I wrote when we first met but
I started to choke on the words, because
They wouldn’t keep you from having to cut
The ties we valued so much. Now, like fuzz
from whiskey I lean in for a last kiss.
There was none. Maybe it was best like this.