it's late
I turn on the light.
do you love her, I say.
and you roll to me
with eyes like a child who smokes
and goes to his bed,
smelling like lies.
you are a black blur
dark car
dark eyes
working late and getting
nothing done
you smell like love
a perfume I haven't been allowed to wear for years
before rings
before dresses
before promises.
I look at you
and see the boy who
put a coat around my shoulders
who kissed me and took away
the daydreams of the teenage mind.
I see who you were
back when I knew you.
Now with sleepy hair
bleary eyes
lying in bed beside me
a bed without passion
without interest.
I don't try anymore.
I look at you
and see her in your eyes
typing,
looking up
dragging her toes against the floor as she sits
waving her leg like a pendulum
while you pretend
not to sweat inside.
I look at you
and see tears I should be crying
years wasted and
dead on the table.
a love flat on its back,
stale,
wasted.
you look at me.
no, you say.
and eye me like I'm the strange one
the liar.
and I shut the light
but don't see you any less
before I fall asleep.