Spilt Water

Sometimes I reminisce over old lovers

I know this is dangerous territory

That spilt water cannot be poured back

But I like to picture the way that each one

Would wake up sleepy eyed next to me

Or the sounds they made when they climaxed

Or the facial expression they’d make

When I disappointed them

Or the smile they’d pull when I’d be chivalrous

And which ones made me feel

More alone than I already was

And the ones that made me feel like

I was in the presence of kin

My first took my virginity

And handed me cynicism

My second told me jokes on rooftops

That I didn’t find funny

My third didn’t understand my poetry

And took too long to do her makeup

My forth was a nymphomaniac

And even I couldn’t keep up

My fifth was off with the fairies

And only ate dark cacao

My sixth cycled away on her fixed gear bike

Just as she started to feel something

My seventh told me to relax

When I had anxiety attacks

My last skinned me to the bone

And still owns my sanity

It is funny that these people who I’ve shared

Bodily fluids, secrets and tears with have become numbers

Spilt water from the past that cannot be poured back

And has long since dried up


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