I found myself falling in love
with the way words fell out of your mouth.
The way you slipped your feet into boots,
focusing on the floor for only a second
until you returned my glance, reading me like a journal,
watching me like your favorite movie scene.
Now I’ve watched you watch me and seen
you long for that same love—
the kind I already praise you for in my journal,
the kind that makes me want to kiss your mouth,
that makes you undress in a second.
But I’ve noticed your eyes linger longer on your boots—
your eyes have started to linger on her boots,
your eyes fixate on Girl in movie scene.
I watch you count the seconds
until sleep, while I count the seconds until you love
me again. How long until my mouth
is new? Until you read my eyes like a journal?
I found old love poems in your journal
idolizing my legs in high-heeled boots,
and the red pucker of my mouth
stained with the lipstick of Girl in love scene.
If looks were the motive for love,
I had your heart in a second.
I loved you the second
you held me for the first time. I journaled
about how your smile was filled with love,
about the way you walked in those brown boots,
about how you were a special I’d never before seen.
A perfect pair of lips molded for my old mouth.
Now, closed floodgates are your mouth
holding back more lies by the second.
I won’t be the girl in your final scene,
my body is the only thing loved in your journal,
your eyes hug the floor when you lace your boots.
I crave a forever lost love.
My mouth imprisoned in your journal,
my second act memorizing the scuffs of your boots,
always waiting for the final scene to captivate your love.
