we call love selfless
but she fills you up
the sweet you savour
and the bellyache after
everything in moderation
even love, though it's in her nature
the delicious excess and sickness
when you find you've loved too much

when you're crying
because he didn't feel the need
to see you tonight
and the weight is bearing down
and the loss is so heavy
you don't think you will ever stand again
and the muscles in your throat have
been exhausted and your jaw is sore
and you can't remember ever being
this lost or incapable or dying

love is rarely alone, and in this case
she is laced with the realization
that while our bodies will merge
our paths cannot and kismet
is just another word for naivete

and we fucking use each other
and we fucking use each other
and we, fucking, use each other

and his love fills me up
like he fills my womb:
suddenly and impermanently
and tomorrow we will be alone again
my empty body and i

unguarded till the next wave