Today, inexplicably I thought of you. The way my toes curled inside when you touched me, that shamefaced look mixed with guilt and desire, the constant dialogue in my mind, I remember.
I remember how night sounded in your arms – silken and full of promises. Songs that I had long forgotten, whisper in drunken melancholy.
Why did you fuck things up? Or down. Around.
Wantonly never yours,