love

i.
if i asked you to love me, would you?

ii.
i open my mouth so that
something wonderful and romantic may pour forth
and make you happy,
as we cuddle on the fading sofa in your
apartment which looks a lot shadier than it really is,
but your press your finger to my lips
and warn me softly with your eyes
that i’ll probably ruin the moment

(you always said that i was
so much prettier when i
shut the fuck up)

iii.
i told you that i loved you
and you told me that you loved me too

(in a tone that said:
         “NO.
                   I.
                             DON’T.”)
iv.
why is it that when i ask you
why you never buy roses or chocolate or
teddy bears that i would eventually throw away
after you broke my heart the sixteenth time,
that you just smile and tell me that i’m cute
when i talk about myself when you’re gone?

(i fished that bear out of the dumpster at
exactly 3:09am, and cried into its fur
that was stained with some sort of awful
baby formula, why why why
i am not worth you’re love?)

v.
six and a half months later
you call me and tell me
that you miss my beautiful
blue eyes and how they made you
think of the sea and silk and sapphires

(i remind you that my eyes are brown
much like the shit you made me feel like)

vi.
i asked you to love me
and you asked me,
“my place, or yours?”