your lies rubbed off on me
dark smudges below my eyes
and in the corners of my flesh
places you were the last to touch-
with your lips- if that counts.

i could send you letter
after letter- infinitely playing
the game of infatuation;
or i could speak to you-
in tongues, catching glimpses
of your eyelids- every chance i get.

but we could never quite
sit across from each other
at any diner. no- not on my
birthday, eating pancakes;
and at tim hortons-
your half-eaten bagel
still remains.