i know you won't come here

your cum is still on these sheets.
i don't mind much, i guess.
it was nice when you were here,
but i remember sometimes
what it cost me in daylight hours,
some of the best sleep of my life.

we talk of journeys and destinations
or lacks thereof, and hallucinations that made other people insane
laughing all the time about how crazy we've been
until we cry.

i was determined to write without homage
but then we're nothing but tapestries
of our the things we've loved and hated.
i thought it was impossible not to write
with the orgasms of everyone i've fucked

and i thought you might be happy to know you're here
your spit and theirs in my head and my hands
considering that love makes us authors and we wrote this one
in the first ten minutes of mind fucking
and as always i missed the point looking for my eraser
but no one was keeping score
and you wouldn't stop asking me what all of this is for.
you shouldn't. stop asking. that is.

there are so many people talking over me
to tell me to speak my mind.