the last love poem

stuck - like a caramel in the cavity of your molar
close enough to feel the sensation of sugar resting on your tongue,
salivating the sweetness but still unable to feel the chewy
satisfaction of breaking it down into a gooey stream..

The only poems I feel are made of love and heartbreak
"a walking cliche"

But I refuse to keep writing and allowing the continued ownership of my heart
by someone that doesn't want it.

I want to run on rainbows alone while piano sounds carry me through to a path of greater purpose and a stronger soul, all the while stopping to lay in all the gardens.

Getting grass stuck on my skin,
leaving lines and ridges on the surface of my legs,
tying myself in a bow
because self love can mean giving yourself a hug
because you mean it.

I do love me - I do,
filling those cavities because even though you love the taste,
an open hole in your bones, forever closing
but the feeling of swiping your tongue across the outer edges of your tooth
you'll always feel where that hole was, the filling..always gritty

And it hurts
knowing that I've written your last love poem,
because it always feels better
making a meal you can share with someone else...
but it's okay,
thank you for reading them.

The fact is - I don't know what a sunset feels like just for me.
I want to know the feeling of the sunset alone in a room,
Knowing that in this moment,
that enjoyment is just for me.
I always want to give it away.

Sleeping alone because I want to
and even though it gets cold and I can actually
still remember
the feeling of forearms around my waist
and the silent sounds of sleep.
I know the curves of my body still feel whole
without your hands rubbing them down.

And I know that it's over
because it took so long
but now when I wake up in the morning...
it's never you.