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,



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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