You think I don’t know? You think I don’t notice the lipstick smudges running along the collar of the white shirt I bought you for our anniversary? You think I don’t see you smiling at the falling snow, even though you know I hate winters?
You used to worship my skin, breathe me, inhale me like I am your oxygen. Remember how you loved my smell of jasmine? Funny, I can smell whisky and cigarettes on you each night.
When you say it’s bed hair, I know she’s been running her fingers through it. When you ask me to hold you close, I know that your dreamy depths have taken you far, far away from me.
But I won’t do the right thing and let you go. Baby, I’m not a good person, I’m selfish. I’ll moan your name when you thrust into me, knowing that it’s not my brown orbs you seek. I’ll strip you down, even though you’d rather just close your eyes. I’ll push you down, down and further down till your lips nuzzle my thighs.
And when you momentarily blink; I’ll let slip that treacherous, solitary tear; beautiful in its glistening grief.
I’ll lock you up, keep you close, until you wither into your shell.
Because you’re mine.
And she can never have what’s mine.