i burnt all of the poetry i had written about you
it was going to be a book
with photographs and pressed flowers
and a dedications page with your name
the title was a floral play
on your name, too
now there are ashes in my hair
and i hate wasting paper
and that is why i'm crying so don't think it's you
i wish i could smoke in the fumes
and breathe out all of the words i shouldn't have written
i shouldn't have written them
i shouldn't have written lines like
oh baby, your body is soft skin, soft lips, soft hair
and i feel silly like a girl in the rain
smoking her last cigarette
but they're gone now
and you're gone now
and we're both in separate worlds pretending
that we're the one who isn't speaking
to the other
oh baby, your body is hardened heart and flawed skin
and all of those times i said 'i love you'
i lied
or maybe i didn't
but now i guess you'll never know
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