SIn tax

by whitehorse

your scent stays on me like ciggarette smoke
the tell tale signs of my addiction to a form
a feminine body that reminds me to be masculine

to take your broken hands in mine and try to make them whole again

and i promised i would do this
between kisses
in a room to brightly lit
for the dark secrets we kept telling in it

i was filling up your ear
with words i meant
but didnt know the consequence
that love would be a dent left in my chest
an absence

like you could walk away from this
and somehow remain in one piece

but the scent you leave on my shirts
will always kling to me