No More Ice Cream

 

wrote the beats of your heart down

on a napkin

at a bar

just for future reference          but I guess I was born to live without

 

after three years of romance:

I’m left with nothing but fabric scars,

servings of hours,

the outline of arms,

outstretched

 

she was so good at mimicking me:

the lovely James about campus,

paying for parking and bounding your way,

to dorms and ice cream,

delicious evening snacks

on each other—

we’d dine

 

for the night before the lights dimmed,

and our hearts waned—

a vendetta set,

for years to come;

I’ll keep track of it

 

forgive the heart i own now:

it may not beat so much

as before,

when ice cream was dripping

on forearms,

and kisses were disguised

amongst sugar and lips

as sweet.

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