Her

I know I am not the first

To lay beside you,

Possibly not even the first

To write about it.

I know, full well, my role

Has been played before,

And I see that she has left

Her autograph on your skin.

You always try to hide it.

Always ripping out pages

From the history books,

Always blacking out lines in the scripts.

Yes, I know I ask too many questions

Maybe, that's why I write poems.

I crave the taste of your

Honey soaked answers.

You see, my love, curiosity

Is my fatal flaw.

Now tell me,

What was hers?

I lay in this bed beside you

In the chalk outline she left for me,

Rigorously rehearsing tomorrow's

Lines in my head.

We are light years apart

And in the taunting space

Between our bodies,

Bundles of galaxies thrive.

My love, won't you tell

Me a bedtime story?

May I request the tragedy

Of Romeo and Juliet?

I wonder, does she think

Of me as much as

I think of her?

I eat my jealousy.

And, why do I think of her

When I should think of you?

My gentle lover, who has never

Given cause for my obsession.

I suppose, it's because

She's a part of you,

Whether either of us likes it or not

And I want to love every part of you.

Come, my love, let us

Close this ridiculous space.

No more stories for tonight.

Let us turn off the light.

In the final act,

You look at me

And I catch a glimpse of the universe

In your green eyes.