remember when you told me
that you were afraid
of falling for me.

well,
i guess you had no reason
to fear.
because i didn't leap over your heart
and make the kill.
no,
i was much more modest than that.
but modesty can cost you everything
in a world where you can actually become fond
of what you come across.

i wasn't taking an idle tour.
i looked upon the pieces
in your show
like my eyes had no real home.
laid my fingerprints upon the velvet rope
like i had some right to be there,

some right to love you.

as though i weren't the figure
in your snow globe.
forever still
despite conditions.
the ink from the pen,
in your skin.
no matter how useful the design,
gone with a few washes;
rinsed by your casual attitude.

but it's not your cavalier presence
that kills me now.
it's how many men it has taken
to prove that you are no longer
the weight in my bed.

their hand prints on my body
don't cover your tracks.

they are merely the parachutes
keeping me above the ground which is you
that i always land upon.

you'd need to squeeze the hell out of me
to get any blood.
the only thing you'd get with ease
is the remorse for a love within myself
that i let devour me
beyond gluttony.