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She didn’t kiss me like you.
That’s what you said
as we sat on my bedroom fire escape,
staring at the luminescent red and green lights
of the Empire State Building.
Christmas was almost here.
Our third one if I counted correctly.
We never faced one another.
as you spoke to a starless night sky
and I listened to taxis curse at brave pedestrians.
You didn’t love me the same way anymore.
You needed to find yourself
before you could give to others.
I wasn’t what you needed right now.
You didn’t see a future or a family with me.
I didn’t cry.
Not for your satisfaction
but for mine.
I didn’t want to remember myself that way.
Thoughtfully the city exhaled
a windfull of flurries up my thin nightshirt.
Shuttering for the first time,
I got up and dusted off the rust from my jeans.
copyright 2009
Luivette
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