I realise now, of all times, that it was never you I loved.
However patronisingly pretty your half-slurred words appeared to a starved mind and cold body, I never loved you.
Though your teeth pressed into my skin as you smiled, I never loved you.
It wasn't you I loved. It was the places, the things, the reflections in your eyes, the coral and birds. Your foreign familiarity. I loved the sea settled in those sockets.
It was never you I loved.
YOU ARE READING
Eveningtime Darlings
PoesíaThey sat in the languid eveningtime, singing 'darling, darling, please be mine.'
