You gave me your heart

on a silver platter;

of course, I didn’t know

that’s what it was.

You had favored goodbyes

over hellos,

a pillow to spoon

rather than easy banter;

in public, the quick peck

on the cheek

over having my taste

on your lips—

squeezing my ass:

your preferred form

of appropriate PDA.

I threw it all away.

For what? Your eyes begged.

Something better, I silently cried.

I didn’t ask to be held

on a pedestal, your polished trophy.

Raise me up, hold me

dear, show me love—

I loved your words

until they fell short,

flat at our feet & running

off to the gutter

in the downpour.

Turns out, I’m taking your lead

& favoring goodbye.