In between words and intimacies

If these were the last words you say to me

would they be words

of endearment

of passion

of hatred

of anger

of betrayal

or

of disappointment

Would you spend hours thinking about our time together

days hours minutes seconds

of madness

of love

of partnership

of fights

or

of drug induced escapes

Would you phrase it with precision and craftswoman-ship

Or would you blurt out

the obvious redundancies

I am tired of listening to

I would spend hours thinking it through

place special importance on the way

your taste             your smell               your quick deep breaths

lingered in my memory.

What would you do?

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Happiness I felt the day,

when his eyes devoured me,

without hatred or anger,

with an ache that resembled love.

 

Even the walls shrieked in joy,

as he touched my face,

no hatred or anger,

with a touch that I mistook for love.

 

His touch I still craved,

for I mistook lust, for love.

Hatred and anger rose in me,

with the lingering flame of my love.