now to always a phantom limb

spit steeps impatiently into my mouth from your red lipstick kitsch as you glide.
and your eyes well, and your breasts pace over my neck with every deep heavy breath,
and you echo to hear your own voice.
roman
roman
romanromanoooooooooooooooorrrroman
ro
r-oh…
but the round that replies isn’t mine.
you can’t hear, feel or smell me
over all their louder, stronger, dirtier hushes.
but don’t apologize
for what you don’t understand
because i know
you can fail someone and blame on them
keep someone and bail on them
miss someone and stay with them
kill someone and pray for them.
i know you did.
it’s just worth less.
there’s nothing more to it.

spite will guide you
to someone else whose will to live or leave won’t choke;
who’s every vein by your beautiful swollen mouth won’t fold,
who’s want for you to fuck won’t grope,
just like mine (you never noted your needs),
and fill that burrow
with your phantom limbs,
where i’ll always sleep,
finally.