I pulled a blonde hair out of your tank top
when I was tracing my fingers
on your neck.
It was the morning after
we fucked on my couch
and you held me in your arms
as you slept.
When we woke early to the sun’s rays
and birds chirping,
you found my body twice.
You dressed slowly after
and smiled complacently as you sat
at the edge of my bed.
Satisfied with yourself or me,
I can never tell.
Not ready for your departure
I reached for you instead.
I rubbed your back in longing
for something true.
What I found was a woman’s hair
that I’m sure belonged to the one
you said never touches you.
I let the dead strand drop
to my carpeted bedroom floor
not a word said
and continued to trace my fingers
in the way that I know you like.
When you left I kissed you goodbye twice
and wondered curiously at the past few months.
You’ve changed the way you hold me.
More tongue in your kiss,
Kissing me more frequently during our visits.
Having learned me, your love is less selfish.
Your arms hold me all night,
and your snores come quickly
when months prior,
I would have been gifted
with just a few moments of affection
before your back turned to me in sleep.
But the blonde hair was in your tank top
nonetheless,
and you never call me pretty
which I find suspicious
because you always gasp at my nakedness
and smile when I laugh.
Just the same,
you left that morning
and I pretended to be okay.
As the door clicked shut behind you,
I thought,
well love,
that’s it… our story
represented in just a day.
Poetry on Paper 