A detached, uninterested look
is my favorite pick up line.
Rotting, oxidized plums
are my choice of fine wine.
Homeless streets and rotted benches
are my pick for a suitable bed.
He left love letters and Benjamins
on the floor for me to shred.
Without desire to destroy
I found myself so starved.
I didn’t realize I was empty
due to the hole that he had carved.
I wasn’t aware I longed for neglect
because that’s what I was used to.
I wasn’t aware I preferred the taste of poison
because it was the only flavor I knew.
I wasn’t aware I was comforted by danger
because after violence, came the embrace.
I wasn’t quite aware of anything until the
wounds healed and gone was his last trace.