You are your own worst enemy,

And as we chat,

Surrounded by steamy windows,

You give me an explanation that you can't see.

As I ask you question after question,

You answer your own questions,

In the cool air between us.

The words cling to the windows,

In the form of condensation that drips silently,

Because no matter how many words you say,

You don't make any sense to yourself.

Star-crossed,

That's what you called us,

But you're the only one crossing lines.

Your sentences are full of ifs and buts,

And you ponder why we aren't together,

Yet you say the answer,

But don't even listen to yourself.

The silence between us,

Is filled with questions that don't have answers,

No matter how many words you say.

Because we don't make love,

We fuck.

You fuck me.

Perhaps over,

As I remind myself that you move on,

Like a bird headed for warmer climate,

Because the climax isn't enough to make you stay,

Nothing is.