a jaded kind of beautiful

you don’t have to remind me anymore - of cloudy Thursdays persuading us to meet in between and just rip apart all calendars and clocks within our distance - you don’t even need to look at me - at smeared paint and fingers igniting a drenched waist, at sullied clothes and broken ashtrays you once metaphored me into - you don’t need to hear me out - to envision my whispers as the untamed snarls and paws scratching in a forgotten alley ——

you don’t have to shred me down - tumbling nightlamps to replace slamming doors and enraged words we never actually meant, but did we ever really mean everything we said to each other, did we ever really mean anything - you don’t have to own me anymore - any more than when i had your shoulder right under my cheek and we never minded people’s minds ——

you don’t have to remind me anymore – of estranged whispers clinging to scarcely touching fingers and barely touched lips – you don’t even need to look at me – at diffidence’s warmth every night grasping my never made sheets, because even when i don’t need hope, they always will – you don’t need to hear me out – to envisage my voice as the skin you once hollowly foraged, as the bone you once tenderly abraded – you don’t have to shred me down – descending curtains and veils and clothes we burned as they dropped – you don’t have to own me anymore – any more than you already did before even the fieriest of touches reached me through your lips

you don’t even have to know what i’ve become once all those were gone